Another Way
by Maevenly
Summary: Cylons always have a plan. They want her but they've never been able to keep her. Now, the Cylons have the perfect bait,and trap,for Starbuck. Epilogue: Kara starts to pick up the pieces of her life and Lee's there to help her, along with everyone else.
1. Chapter 1

**ANOTHER WAY: PROLOGUE**

A single individual sat in a darkened movie theatre and watched images move across a projection screen. The sound of a female voice, the narrator of the film, faded out just as the house lights came on.

A lovely dark-haired female leaned forward and draped her forearms across the backing of the seat directly in front of her. Her slight build only deepened the expectation to be obeyed when she commanded, "Play that part again."

House lights stayed lit, and the images on the screen scrambled as the film was re-wound.

"There. Stop now." Another order was issued. "Freeze it."

An image sharpened and came into focus.

"Go back a little more." A hint of anticipation crept into her voice.

Again, the image on the screen broke up as the film was rewound. This time though, the first image she demanded stayed in focus – a static photo side by side a blur of colour.

"There. That's it." Another image solidified on the screen. Narrowing her eyes, she needed one more form of confirmation before she was completely convinced. "Once more; this time go slow."

Two images, one in black and white and the other in colour stood in sharp relief next to the moment-by-moment rewinding of the film.

A well-pleased smile crept over the dark-haired woman's face. "Stop the film. Isolate that frame and put it up on the screen."

A third image, this time colour, solidified next to the previous two selections.

Slumping back in her seat, the woman slouched down and counted the afternoon a roaring success. Lifting her feet and crossing her ankles over the seat in front of her, the images on the screen were talking to her in a language no Tongue of Man ever crafted.

It was being said in Tongue of Woman – and it took a woman to understand what a woman truly said. That is why she requested a private viewing of the 'documentary' made several months ago. Before, the focus had been on another. But this time, God wanted her to look at the film and truly see the gift He had given them. Not the fact that the pregnant one was still alive or that the foetus was still viable, but the other, greater, gift her pride in her previous accomplishment had prevented her from seeing.

"I have seen enough." Projecting her voice through the empty theatre, she issued one more command. "I want to watch it burn. But play back the audio."

On the screen, scorch marks and pin-prick holes began in and around the images.

Over and over the same question and answer reverberated against the walls of the movie theatre.

"What do you look for…?" The female narrator asked.

"Someone crazy enough to follow me into battle," heavy breathing punctuated her answer as solid thumps of the woman's fists connected with the punching bag.

The image on the far left, of a blonde haired woman giving a reassuring tap on the shoulder to an apparently emotionally and physically tired man as he leaned his palms against his Viper and watched her retreating back, curled in on itself. On the far right, the image of the same man following the same woman, both dressed in flight suits, making eye contact as they darted down a companion way on their way to a hanger deck was obliterated as a hole in the image grew and grew until the frame was destroyed. The middle image, the most resilient of the three frames, was of the same blonde haired woman – sweaty, dishevelled, her fists raised in an aggressive stance and a cocky, endorphin infused smirk spread across her face – as she squared off against a punching bag.

"What do you look for…?" The female narrator asked.

"Someone crazy enough to follow me into battle," heavy breathing punctuated her answer as solid thumps of the woman's fists connected with the punching bag.

A lethal smile pulled the sensual lips of Sharon Valerii tight against her teeth as she watched the last of the image, the woman's eyes and fringe of hair, melt away into nothingness.

Sharon looked heavenward and gave thanks.

To the image that no longer appeared on the projection screen, she gave a jaunty salute – woman to woman.

"Thank you, Starbuck."

Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx


	2. Chapter 2: Ring Around the Moon

**ANOTHER WAY: CHAPTER 2**

**RING AROUND THE MOON**

_**Somewhere in Deep Space…**_

The Viper is a beautiful piece of machinery. Sensitive, responsive, tough, resilient, nurturing even, it was the embodiment of what every mother, father, brother, sister, lover, husband, wife, girlfriend, boyfriend and frak-buddy should be. It tells you when something is wrong, it shows you when you have something right and it is always there for you in the same condition you left it when you landed it last.

"Damn, Starbuck – didn't know you were going to get all deep on us this afternoon."

Frak! Did she just say what she was thinking out loud, over the comm system? She must be more tired than she thought.

"Can the chatter, Hot Dog. If you don't, I guarantee that you will be learning a new language as soon as we clear the hanger deck," Starbuck promised.

"Oh yeah, Lieutenant – and what language is that?" Hot Dog pressed his luck. Starbuck must really be thinking about other things if she let him sass her.

"Grunt-ese, lowly-little-nugget because your jaw will be wired shut by the time I am done with you." Glancing in the direction where Hot Dog flew in formation, she barked out, "Clean up your pitch Hot Dog or the Chief will have whatever is left of you for dinner if you gouge Kat's bird."

Filling her view port, a beautiful gas giant with a heaving atmosphere spun slowly on its axis, layers of perfectly shaped rings circumnavigated the oversized planet. Hovering near its stratosphere, billowing clouds of pressure-released gasses collided and curled around each other in a deadly dance.

A fabulous thought came to her mind. Carefully checking the trajectory of the fleet and their current position, she hailed her training group.

"Okay boys and girls, you are going to learn something today that was only taught in simulators back at the Academy."

"What do you have in mind, Starbuck?" Kat was all ears, her curiosity piqued.

"You all are going to learn what it means to have minor case of whiplash." Starbuck flipped a few switches and transmitted freshly calculated co-ordinates and flight speeds to everyone in her group.

"Um, Starbuck, I don't think I am reading this right." All previous cockiness was gone from Hot Dog's voice as he pieced together the information Starbuck streamed into his console.

"Starbuck to Galactica Actual, come in Galactica Actual." The image of The Old Man was as clear in her mind as if she were standing in right front of him.

"Go ahead Starbuck, this is Galactica Actual." The gravely tone of Commander Adama filled her headset.

"Sir, we're gonna make a Ring Around the Moon. Wanna fire up The Bucket and join us?" Her eyes danced as if she were speaking to him face to face.

"That's a negative, Starbuck. These old bones of hers would be pressed into the burners if I tried that now. But good luck and enjoy the ride. Galactica Actual out."

The line clicking dead was the equivalent of having his blessing being served on a tylium salver.

"Okay folks. Here's what we are going to do. We are going to use the gravity of this planet to sling-shot ourselves around the planet. Hugging just the right plane, you'll see why the Viper Mark Seven is actually an inferior flying machine to these twenty year old pieces of aeronautic perfection currently separating us from the cold emptiness of space. Just do what the read out tells you to do at the precise time the read out tells you to and you will thank me for it. You all can thank me now for the fly-by we are going to do as we come out from behind the planet, streak across Galactica's bow and give everyone in the observation deck something to brag about seeing for the next couple of weeks." Anticipation filled her voice. "We'll bring the Ring to the Old Man."

"Starbuck – why is it called Ring Around the Moon?" Kat asked. "I thought 'ring around the moon' meant 'bad weather coming soon'?"

"If you were flying the grandfather of the Mark Two and you did the manoeuvre properly and handled the fluctuations in the g-forces aptly enough, you could connect the tail of your burn from where you finished to where you started. That's the kind of speed we are talking about folks." Deliberately not answering Kat's question was Starbuck's way of saying that the question was not worth answering.

"So what does that mean little boys and girls?" Starbuck loved her pop quizzes.

"Run a safety and operations check on all your systems." All four voices sounded in her head set.

Pop quiz number two was fired off as the Vipers settled into a staggered formation around her.

"Tell me sub-humanoids: what do we do when we find our attention wandering?"

"Run a safety and operations check on all your systems." Three male and one female voice recited an axiom of flight safety.

Noting that everyone was now in place, Starbuck looked off her port bow. "Kat, you are first. Skid Mark, you're on deck. Hot Dog, you're third and Monkey Boy, you follow Hot Dog. I am going come up from behind you, slide into that lovely little hole I know you all are going to make for me, and then we are going to scare the pants off of those people on the Observation Deck."

Monkey Boy broke into her transmission. "Starbuck, ah… Monkey Boy is not my call sign."

"It is if I say it is nugget. And since I saw the ropes of hair that came off your back and clogged the drain in the forward showers, I went to the C.A.G. and had it changed. Actually, you owe your new name to the C.A.G. He told me that the name I had chosen for you – a lovely five word combination, if I do say so myself – included a series of letters, of which held specific definitions, that are classified as 'forbidden' on five of the twelve colonies. Do you want to keep going, Monkey Boy?" Starbuck's syrupy sweet voice was more lethal than one of her menacing tirades.

"No, ma'am," Monkey Boy said, her point hitting just the right place on his need for social survival.

"Now be a good little knuckle dragger and get your ass in the line up." Bad Ass Starbuck was back as she snapped her order in the comm system. Down shifting her excitement, she called out, "Branch out people and don't crowd. Give each other plenty of elbow room."

"Okay Kat. You can do this. Do you feel it?" Starbuck asked the nugget.

"Yeah, I feel it, Starbuck."

The thrill of the unknown stretched from cockpit to cockpit as the five Vipers hung suspended in space.

"PUNCH IT, KAT!"

Off her starboard bow, the strengthening glow of an engine burning as it built to maximum velocity spoke to her soul and had Starbuck thanking the Gods for blessing her with the love of flying.

Seeing Kat disappear around the far edge of the gas giant, a whoop in her headset as Kat began her sling shot brought a genuine thrill to every part of her body. Stamping down the urge to revel with her nugget, Starbuck was again the flight instructor these four had come to depend on.

"SKID MARK, PUNCH IT!" Starbuck commanded.

Counting backwards from ten to one, the same whoop that Kat hollered was repeated as the g-forces converged to push the young Tauron faster than he had ever flown before.

"GO HOT DOG!"

It was just her, Monkey Boy and the exhilaration that fuelled Hot Dog's jubilant, "FRAK ME!" Starbuck thought she could actually hear when he was slammed into his seat by the excess of forces.

"Get ready, Monkey Boy," Starbuck advised. Looking over at the other man, Starbuck saw nervous anticipation wrap around his bird. "Wait for it. Don't rush it. Just follow the flight plan and know that you own what you do. Everything else will come naturally, I promise."

"Okay, Starbuck." Monkey Boy settled into a more natural position in his seat and Starbuck could swear the whole demeanour of the Viper changed once his personal logic took a turn towards confidence.

"Three, two, one," Starbuck counted down. "FLY MONKEY BOY, FLY!"

Watching the last of her nugget class disappear around the planet, she mentally ran through a safety and systems check before flexing her fingers around the throttle of her Viper.

A war cry worthy of scattering a hundred enemy Raiders reverberated inside her cockpit and into the headsets of her students. Punching up the burners, the Old Man was right when he said the g-forces would break apart the bones of The Old Girl. As it was, she felt her cheeks being pushed down her throat. The pressure against her legs as she kept her feet on the pedals as she banked at an off-the-instruments speed only increased as she started her slingshot. Both ears popped as the life-support systems fought to maintain minimal safe limits and she felt like her ribs were actually pressed against her lungs as breathing became laboured. It became harder and harder to breathe out versus breathing in.

Running along the planet's equator she felt, rather than reading the display on her instruments, when she passed the planet's meridian. This was the most dangerous part, and the quickest. For a just a minute and a half, all directional capability would be sacrificed as the inertia dampeners kicked into over drive to keep the plane free of the planet's gravity and yet close enough to the surface of the atmosphere to use the power of the planet's gravity to push the bird to something just shy of faster-than-light.

Fifty-seven seconds to go. Looking ahead, all four of her people had made it and like good little nuggets, they had left her a neat little hole to slide into. In fifty-three seconds she thought her group would appreciate hearing what good little nuggets they were. On her DRAEDIS console, the familiar blip identifying Galactica was a beacon calling her home.

That is, until her DRAEDIS screen began to resemble a Picon snowstorm. Screw that – a Picon blizzard during a previous ice age.

An explosion from the planet's volatile surface blew a horizontal hole through one of inner rings circling the gas giant. A violent chain reaction spread from ring to ring – driving more and more super-heated, statically charged detritus and particles directly into her flight path.

She was flying right into the worst of it with both hands tied behind her back.

BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG


	3. Chapter 3: Flight

**Another Way**

**Chapter 3: Flight**

**_On the Far Side of the Gas Giant En-route Back to Galactica…_**

"WHOOOHOOO!!"

Still flying fast but not at the velocity of the previous ten seconds, Hot Dog slapped his gloved hands against his canopy as his jaw dropped open to let out an ecstatic whoop.

"By the Gods, that was good! Anyone have a cigarette?" Kat polled the rest of the group.

"Kat – do you need to change your panties?" Skid Mark asked and not because he thought she had pissed herself with excitement.

"Damn, Skid Mark – I think I do!" Kat was endorphin high. Peering over her left shoulder, she made visual contact with another Viper-mate. "What about you, Monkey Boy – you okay over there?"

A dumbfounded look and a pair of 'thumbs up' signals were illuminated by lights that ringed the inside of Monkey Boy's helmet.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would say the lad has been rendered speechless." Hot Dog teased.

"Speaking of ladies – shouldn't Starbuck be here by now?" Skid Mark turned in his seat to see if he could see their Flight Instructor.

"That gas giant is messing with my readings," Kat did a quick scan of her instruments. "I can't see a thing."

"HOLY FRAK!" Monkey Boy shouted into the comm system. "BREAK FORMATION! NOW! NOW! NOW, PEOPLE!"

Four Vipers peeled off on two different vectors – port and starboard – as a mass of wreckage trailing thick, oily smoke barrelled though their previous position.

"EMERGENCY! This is Viper One-Two-Niner calling in an EMERGENCY for Viper Five-Three-Seven. Repeat: EMERGENCY!" Kat dialled up Galactica as soon as she saw what was left of Starbuck's Viper streak past her starboard bow. "Galactica, this is Viper One-Two-Niner-"

"Go Ahead Viper One-Two-Niner – this Galactica. State your emergency." The female voice over the wireless was even and soothing despite the hint of dread that clung to the outside of her words.

"Galactica – Starbuck's Viper is damaged. No communications. Her aft burners, wings and fuselage are perforated." Straining her eyes on the ball of smoke as it barely missed a civilian cruiser, Kat relayed more information. "It looks like she has regained some manoeuvrability but still has not made contact, Galactica. Repeat-"

"Galactica – Starbuck." Starbuck's voice cut off Kat's briefing – static and feedback riddled her audio transmission.

"Go ahead Starbuck," Commander Adama was now the voice that carried into the pilot's headsets.

"Sir. Got hit by debris. Got a problem. Failures. Hot. Fast." Screeching feedback broke up her transmission and made it seem as if she were speaking in incomplete sentences.

"Flight group, you are ordered back to Galactica – combat landings." Adama's control of the situation was a balm on the four pilots-in-training nerves.

"Understood, Actual – combat landings," Kat repeated. Speaking to the group, she relayed the message – just as Starbuck had taught them. "Kat to group: head for home and prepare to execute combat landings."

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

Dee looked up from her console in CIC and made eye contact with the Commander.

"Sir – flight group has landed per orders. Chief Tyrol says he needs a minimum of three minutes to clear the deck."

"Thank you Dee." Shifting his eyes to the overhead DRAEDIS display, an erratic icon dipped and banked at reckless, borderline endangerment, speeds towards the outer edges of the fleet.

Colonel Tigh took up his own watch on the moving icon. "What is she doing?"

"She is killing two birds with one stone. Starbuck knows that she is running too hot and flying too fast. If she comes in now, she will tear a hole right through the hanger bay and she won't stop until she is somewhere near the cargo holds in the bowels of the ship and has vented a third of the ship into space. She is slowing down using the only options available to her. She is also buying the chief as much time as she possibly can so that he can get the deck cleared. That way, if she cannot stop, she will not take out the rest of the fighters and Raptors stationed on the deck."

"What happened to the nets?" Tigh tone was clipped. He did not like Starbuck on a personal or professional level but even he had to admit that she was a tactical asset. Not to mention that there were protocols in place just for such an emergency.

"Gone," Adama tersely replied. An elasticized plast-steel had been developed to 'catch' a runaway space craft before it could do damage to a ship's hanger bay and was standard equipment for any space-faring vessel. Meeting Tigh's head snap with a disparaging tone, he filled his XO in on the details. "They were stripped and re-assigned when the ship was scheduled for decommissioning."

Switching his gaze from his executive officer to Dee effectively dropped the subject. Efficiency was what was needed – that was what Starbuck was counting on him to provide. That was the best thing he could do to help her.

"Page the C.A.G. Notify him. He needs to know what is happening to one of his pilots and make sure he knows that Tyrol rules the deck."

"Yes, Sir." Speaking into her mouthpiece, Dee was a little breathless as she triggered the wireless. "Captain Adama, report to the flight deck immediately. Attention all hands. Pass the word to Captain Adama to report to the flight deck, ASAP."

Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx

"Come on people – MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!" Tyrol was fastening the last of the buckles on his fire-retardation suit as he issued orders that were not being carried out fast enough for his liking.

The landing pod was opened as much as possible beyond the bulkhead doors – giving Starbuck every spare inch he could muster. Clearing the deck included securing all the remaining Vipers and Raptors and he was running out of time. Hell – Starbuck was running out of time. If her ship was as damaged as much as the initial reports stipulated, then she was venting into space as well. Her flight suit would keep her oxygenated but now they were also running the clock against hypothermia. When someone said that space was cold place to be, it was not a purely metaphorical statement. And if she were venting into space, the g-forces could be doing some serious damage to her body.

Scoping the deck, he saw Cally and Jammer, fire suits already on and buckled, hustling their respective groups of underlings. The clank of heavy boots running down a companionway had Tyrol looking high and to his right. Dropping down the stairs two at a time, Lee hit the deck without breaking his stride.

Scooping up another fire-suit, he met the Captain half way and tossed the suit the rest of the way.

Deftly grabbing the suit as it sailed in his direction, Lee was unbuttoning his brass and stripping down as he asked, "Status report, Chief?"

"Sir, we have all the heavy equipment, generators and lifts sorted out as well as the under-repair vehicles and the four Vipers that combat landed. Securing the remaining Vipers and Raptors is remaining an issue, Captain." Tyrol kept to the facts as he swung his arm towards the machines that were the fleet's primary form of protection.

Perspiration was making it difficult to pull the suit on quickly. Despite the number of drills he had participated in, the material was bunching up and rolling on itself. Resettling the crotch and pulling the backing to the left, he freed his tangled tanks and shrugged the safety garment up and over his shoulders. Following the Chief's hands, Lee saw the dilemma.

"Okay. We have a problem and no time to solve it." Lee said.

Quirking an eyebrow at the man standing in front of him, a Starbuck channelled idea flashed behind his eyes.

"Launch them."

"Sir?" Tyrol asked, not sure he had heard the C.A.G. correctly.

"Launch them," Lee repeated. "It's the best way to clear the deck. Starbuck can't crash into them if they are not here." Lee explained hurriedly.

"You know that sounds like something she would say, Sir?" Tyrol commented as he agreed with the Captain's plan.

Already en route to the Panic Button – the klaxon designated to summon all pilots, Viper and Raptor alike, Lee called over his shoulder. "Who else but Starbuck would come up with something like that?"

Deftly punching in his code and hitting the 'accept' button, an automated voice followed by a siren sounded overhead summoning all pilots to the Hanger Deck.

Watching the C.A.G. come trotting back, Tyrol was already issuing the commands to launch the fighters and Raptors. Hearing the C.A.G.'s footfalls slow and stop, he looked over at the man standing near his shoulder, and pointed out the one flaw in Lee's – Starbuck's – plan.

"How is she supposed to dodge all those ships?"

Fighting down the bile that occasionally came with the C.A.G. position, Lee struggled to keep his face neutral.

"That is not my job. It's hers."

Chipping at the ice that had frosted over the chief's face, Lee softened his tone. "Starbuck is important. She is an integral part of this crew. But she would be the first one to kick my ass all the way to the Lagoon Nebula if she knew I put the survival of this fleet ahead of her."

A stampede of pilots and E.C.O.'s ran past them and were secured into cockpits and canopies. The rumble of engines firing up, shifting into launch positions and being rocketed into space made any more discussion impossible.

Pulling a pair of head sets out of one of his pockets; Tyrol kept one for him and handed the other to Lee. Despite being two feet away, Chief spoke into the headset in order to be heard over the din. "How are we going to stop her?"

Levelling another stomach-churning gaze at the Chief, Lee faced the man squarely, pulled the mouthpiece into position and without missing a beat said, "That is your job."

Tyrol now understood why Apollo and Starbuck came to blows. Never before had he been asked to step up to such a challenge while at the same time have his competency thrown in his face.

The problem with a rapidly emptying hanger deck pares down to logistics: how is an incoming, crippled Viper going to be stopped sans the raw materials for even the most basic of ideas?

Looking at Lee, the Chief spun on his heel as to not be distracted when the other man's face scrunched in concentration and focused his gaze to a spot on the far side of the hanger deck as the Captain processed what was being said into his headset.

Tyrol got the same news at the same time. Hearing the C.A.G. acknowledge that he understood what was relayed; Tyrol felt the control over his emotions slip for a second.

"She's charged? How am I supposed to find a way to catch her while she is statically charged, hot, perforated and coming in like Hades' chariot?" Tyrol blurted out accusingly at Lee.

Lee kept silent. As far as he was concerned, whatever the Chief needed, the Chief would get.

Helo and Racetrack, running all the way from the farthest areas of the Battlestar, arrived in tandem and separated only when they headed to their respective Raptors.

An idea so outside the box started to form in the Chief's imagination. It was crazy enough that it might just work, if Starbuck gave him enough time. Given the fact that her last known position had her heading towards the outside of the fleet, it stood to reason that she had to make a loop to get back to the landing pod. That would buy him a few minutes more than he initially thought he had.

With one hand, he cancelled Helo's and Racetrack's respective launches. With the other hand, he curled his fingers and summoned Cally and Jammer. Making eye contact with Lee, he gave out his orders and reached for two plasma torches – one of which he tossed to the C.A.G.

"This is what we are going to do…"

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

Timing was going to be everything.

The instant Starbuck was two klicks from the landing platform was the second Lee gave the command for the pod to be pulled back within the folds of the ship. Her tail fins had barely crossed the threshold when the external blast doors magnetized into place, sealing the area and allowing pressure and oxygen to stabilize the area.

At first, Lee couldn't see Kara or her broken bird. All he could see was a cloud of smoke billowing forward and all he could hear was the high pitched whine of space-craft grade metal being pushed beyond its limits.

The glare usually associated with Viper landing lights was not there. The sounds of hydraulics being released, usually associated with Viper landings, were not there. The sounds of running feet, specialists scrambling to meet their assigned pilots and matching birds, armed with post-flight checklists, usually associated with Viper landings, were not there.

Instead, the sound of Galactica engulfing the landing pod was all but drowned out by the crippled Viper and the pilot trying to land her plane. The purr of two Raptor engines revving, their running lights on, each manned with a pilot, specialists and friends of the incoming pilot was indicative that they were as ready as they were ever going to be.

Looking out the view port of the raptor from the vantage point of the co-pilot's seat, Lee braced his hand on Helo's shoulder but had his gaze locked on Tyrol's. The concept was sound. It was the specific physical variables they had guestimated.

Despite being in a different raptor yards away, the Chief reassured the Captain. One hand on Racetrack's shoulder and standing between her pilot's seat and the co-pilot's chair, he mouthed the words to the question the C.A.G.'s face held.

"It will hold."

The look he got in return was grim resolution. This was the only plan they had. There was nothing else they could do to help Starbuck save herself.

Each raptor was facing the other, their noses pointed in. Parachutes had been cut – not in half to make two separate strips of fabric – but in a way that doubled their length and halved their breadth. Rolled loosely, they were then threaded through hastily made holes, all cut at different heights along the forward frames of the vehicles and then knotted. A piece of metal, much like a shank, was welded to the frames of the raptor and underneath the knots. All the holes were repairable. The parachutes could be re-sown. They only had one chance; Starbuck had only one shot to angle her bird into the makeshift net. If one hundred tons of raptor – fifty tons per ship – was not enough to stop her, then nothing would.

The wail of twisted metal drowned out every other sound on the hanger deck. Smoke rising all the way to the high girders reduced visibility. Racetrack and Helo fought the reflexive urge to pull back when Kara's Viper came into contact with the make-shift netting. Instead, guided by pressure transferred by the hands of the Chief and Lee to their shoulders, Racetrack and Helo let the Viper pull them forward slightly, creating a little slack in the ropes before hitting the reverse thrusters hard and snapping the twisted parachutes taut.

Lee felt like everything was in slow motion. Starbuck's approach, her perforated nose and grit encrusted canopy sliding past the view port only to hit the netting. Letting the raptor be carried forward, it was his job – which he had to time perfectly with Tyrol – to feel when more than half of the inertia from Starbuck's approach transferred to the netting so that they could, in turn, transfer it back to the Viper and snap the craft backwards, away from the hanger deck and let it crash into the far end of a fully pressurized and oxygenated landing pod. Cally and Jammer, armed with the equivalent of lightening rods, were waiting to siphon off the build up of static electricity he could see crackling around Starbuck's ship. White-blue veins of electrical current spanned the distance between the Viper and the Raptors and drew scorch marks along all three hulls.

In the brief instant the cockpit of her Viper rested between the two Raptors, he could not see her. All he could make out was a spider-webbed canopy riddled with holes. Time slowed even more as the net slacked. His hand clapped Helo's shoulder. That was the signal to fire the reverse thrusters. The raptor pitched downward, scoring the deck before pulling the netting taut and shooting Starbuck backwards.

Time returned to normal as he saw the chief move to leave the other raptor and Helo triggered the hatch at the same time he initiated the power-down sequence. Specialists were hitting the deck and running the length of the landing pod. Lee was right behind him. Fifteen feet away, to his left, the Chief and other staff members were in the same race. Behind him, the slightly irregular gait of Helo and the sounds of other personnel coming to help echoed in the pod and around his ears.

Right on cue, Cally and Jammer displaced the static electricity with only a subtle shower of sparks.

Coming up on the crashed Viper, it looked like some giant's child had carelessly tossed it to the side after getting bored playing with it. It was listing to the left, landing gear having been stripped away in the ricochet. The canopy – what was left of it – had collapsed on one side. The Chief could see from where he was running that no amount of prying was going to slide it free. The back end of the plane was the worse. Not only was it riddled with even more of those deadly small holes, but when it collided with the front of the landing pod, the impact jammed everything forward and the undercarriage was actually buckled to the point of being convexed to a certain degree.

Starbuck completed her mission, she had done her part. She had gotten the ship into the pod, at the right angle, and had slowed herself down enough that the roped parachutes were enough to transfer her momentum.

Now, it was his turn.

Coming up on the wreckage, the Chief prayed nothing else went wrong.

Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx

"Status report, Captain," he said, speaking into a head set and adjusting the position of the mouth piece. Turning to Dee he added, "Put him on speaker."

Lee's voice echoed in the CIC as he answered his father's orders. By the sound of his breathing and the thuds of his footfalls, Lee was sprinting in the landing pod

"We were able to rig up a make shift net, use her own momentum to against her. Only minor scoring to the deck: repeat: no significant damage to any craft, pilots or crew."

"Can you see our girl?" More than once, Commander Adama wished that he could what was happening.

"I am coming up on Lt. Thrace's Viper now." A pause preceded some laboured breathing. "Oh, Gods, Dad…" For his C.A.G. to slip into son-role at a moment like this, when he would know that the entire CIC would be listening, meant Lee was deeply affected by what he was seeing.

"How did she land this?" Lee was not talking to his father or CIC, nor was he running any more.

"I have no idea, Sir. I have seen her bring in a bird minus a wing, hell – even minus an engine before – but this…" The sound of the Chief's voice trailing off, the distant sounding words being picked up on Lee's headset spoke to the condition of Kara's fighter more than any verbal detail of the damage sustained.

"Tell me what is going on," Commander Adama looked at his XO and steeled himself for the answer to his next question. "How is she?"

"Yes, Sir," Lee was back to being Captain Adama. "I don't know. I cannot see her. I am on the ground. The canopy is jammed. It cannot be opened. They are firing up the torches; they are going to have to cut her out."

In the background, even Tigh looked concerned when the very distant voice of Cally hailed the C.A.G.

"Sir – do you smell that?"

"FRAK!" The slightly closer timbre of Chief Tyrol pre-empted Lee from answering Cally's question. "We have a fuel leak, people! Double time, people. All non-essential personnel are to leave the area NOW!"

"Sir – we have a problem. There is a fuel leak but we have to use the torches to get her out. Be prepared to vent the area if I give the signal." Lee conveyed to CIC.

"Understood, Captain," Tigh answered for the Old Man who was currently bracing his palms against the console.

The muted sounds of a rescue mission, transmitted through Lee's headset, wrapped around CIC and no one spoke who didn't have too. Dee held all the incoming calls and Gaeta took what ever urgent calls and queries out into the corridor.

"We're making headway, Chief. Almost have it."

"Chief, more fuel is leaking." Cally's update was broken up by the sputtering of plasma torches slicing up a Viper.

"You, there," the image of the Chief pointing to someone they could not see came into sharp focus in the minds of everyone in the command centre, "I want you – and you… Take off your suit jackets. That's it. Now, lay them flat underneath where you are cutting. One spark and this whole place will go up."

"We're though!"

"Quick – get it off. Helo, I want you and Jammer on this side. Captain Adama – you're with me. On the count of three, we lift." The Chief voice sounded relieved but harried at he same time. "One. Two. Three. Lift!"

The sounds of four men groaning under the strain of having to release a sealed canopy that had popped off its tracks, without the aid of hydraulics, had everyone in CIC feeling helpless.

"Do you have her?" Helo's deep voice was a new addition to the drama the CIC was listening to unfold.

"We gotta get her out if here!"

"Oh, Gods, how did she do this?" Jammer's question wasn't one anyone in the rescue party hadn't asked themselves at least five times over.

"Do what Specialist?" Tyrol asked.

"Get _this_ plane **this** far without getting dead, Chief." Jammer's voice carried a measure of disbelief and awe.

No one in CIC had to add the phrase, 'because it was Starbuck behind the stick', because it was the one answer that echoed in minds of everyone in the Command Centre every time the damage to her Viper was alluded too.

"Careful."

"Easy, now…"

"We gotta her helmet off."

"Watch her neck."

The sound of a helmet clanking to the pod's deck was when Tigh noticed the Old Man's knuckles went white as he gripped the side of the nearest console.

"Starbuck – can you hear me? We have to go. Starbuck?" Apollo's voice was hard and hurried. Everyone in CIC could feel the situation in the landing pod becoming more volatile by the moment as they realized that the emergency team had yet to extricate Starbuck from her cockpit.

"Frak – she's non-responsive, Sir."

"You grab her knees, I'll get her shoulders," Lee was talking to someone else.

"I got her." Helo's timbre was even despite the scuffing noises everyone heard as he finalized his grip. "We go on my mark, Captain."

The mental image of two men making eye contact over her inert body as they jockeyed for positions on the damaged Viper was vivid.

'Now," Helo gave the signal.

The sound of more heavy breathing and a whimper of pain pierced the war room. Tigh saw Bill's knuckles return to more natural colour. If Starbuck was in pain, then she was alive.

"Okay, set her down." Lee's shout was several decibels louder than they had heard speak so far, "Frak – her lips are blue! We need a medic!" Dropping to whisper, everyone strained to hear what the Captain was saying to his lead pilot. "Come on Starbuck. Don't give up now." His voice rose again and sharply fired off the question of the moment, "Where the frak is the medic?"

"MOVE BACK EVERYONE! SHE'S GOING OVER!" The sound of screeching, creaking metal drowned out all other background noises except Tyrol's exclamation.

"FRAK! THE FUEL!" Jammer's Geminon accent was picked up by the mouthpiece attached to Lee's headset.

'Captain – status report!" Adama barked into the comm.

"Starbuck's ship is tipping over, collapsing. There is fuel everywhere, it leaked from the Viper." Lee hastily conveyed, letting everyone else who was listening to fill in the blanks that it would only take one spark to light the flight pod up like a Bacchanal Festival when the twin moons of Virgon were in full eclipse. "Her lips are blue but I am not sure if it is from the cold or her breathing is obstructed or something else all together. There is a medic coming this-"

"EVERYONE OUT OF HERE! SHE'S GONNA BLOW!" Tyrol's voice exploded across CIC.

"I'll take her, Captain. Go help the chief," Helo reassured Lee. The sound strain as he settled his load in his arms underscored his suggestion.

"CIC – this is Captain Adama. We are evacuating. Repeat: we are evacuating."

The sound of pounding boots on metal decking was the harsh staccato that punctuated his words.

In the background, the sound of buckling metal and the pinging of nuts and bolts popping out of the tortured plane was a macabre coda to the cacophony of crew members running for their lives.

The 'whoosh' of flames consuming oxygen was immediately followed by Lee hollering a command. "RUN PEOPLE!"

Tigh was at the fire-control panel before Lee finished his last two words.

"If that fire escapes the landing pod," Saul let his voice trail off as he shot Bill with an expectant gaze.

Dee could see from her station the Old Man close his eyes and begin to silently count. She counted with him. When she reached ten, so did he. That was when he gave the order.

"Vent the landing pod."

"Venting landing pod," Tigh repeated, careful to keep his voice as monotoned as possible.

It was another count of ten before Tigh turned away from the panel and looked at the Commander with compassion, hating his next eight words. "Venting successful, the fire is completely out, Sir."

Summoning his self control, Adama swept the bridge. "Mr. Gaeta, you have the watch."

Watching him and the XO leave the room, there was no question in anyone's mind where those two men were going.

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	4. Chapter 4: Home and Family

**Another Way**

**Chapter 4: Home and Family**

_**Somewhere else…**_

It hurt. Breathing. Thinking. Lights. Sounds. Smells. Touches.

Then it stopped.

Everything was… okay.

Not perfect – but good.

No more pain.

No more past sins clouding the here and now.

In fact, the past _was_ the past. Whatever had gone on before did not matter in the slightest. She was… safe. Safe as the definition of the word stood in the dictionary. For the first time in a long time – a very long time, in fact; she knew she was more physically safe than before the end of the worlds. More emotionally secure than before she said 'yes' to Zak's marriage proposal. There was no sense of danger urging her to fight-or-flight like there was when she met Lee Adama for the first time. Her mother's drunken slurs and acts fell away like they had never been said in the first place. In fact, the memory of the last time she felt this safe was playing out in her mind. She was being lifted up into her father's arms despite being too old to be carried. She had hid behind her father when she felt too shy to say hello to a friend of his they met on the way to the marketplace. The smell of his cologne wreathed around her when she buried his face in his chest and slipped her hands underneath his arms. Her father whispered to her that it was okay that she was being shy, that she had not done anything wrong by not saying hello and that she did not have to do anything she did not want to do.

That kind of safe was what she was wrapped in as an unspoken question was asked of her in the most silent of voices.

In fact, her father's voice and his words were what echoed around her while she contemplated her answer.

_You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Kara_.

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Walking into the hanger bay, everyone was so intently focused on doing their jobs that none announced that the Commander and the XO were on the deck.

Two raptors had lengths of twisted parachute material lying on the nearly empty deck between their noses. The bulkhead doors were re-opened and a lift was dragging forward a hunk of metal partially melted by tylium fire, twisted in other places with the after affects of being super-cooled too quickly by the frigid temperatures of space. A broad red stripe running from the front of the wreckage and ending where a hollow cavity could just be seen was the only indication that what he was looking at was once a Viper. Just inside the bulkhead he found what he was looking for: his family – the crew of the Battlestar. The smell of singed hair, burned clothing and the invisible acrid scents of ozone prickled the inside of his nose.

Looking past the specialists scurrying about, nodding in silent acknowledgement at their accomplishment as he crossed the hanger bay, he deliberately filtered out the sounds of an active deck, emergency equipment being hauled, and orders being issued. There was one voice he needed to hear. Two, if he were to tell the truth. But one he counted on in order to find the other.

He heard it.

Up ahead and to the right.

Words that pierced the cacophony of a hanger crew re-establishing order in the wake of an emergency.

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"Lee! Give me a hand!"

Helo was out of breath. The adrenaline reserves he tapped in order to carry Starbuck out of the landing pod while running at full speed was waning – fast. Her head lolled against his shoulder unchecked during their escape and more than once he worried that he was compounding whatever injuries she must have sustained by hauling both their carcasses out of there, but there was no other choice. There was no way he was going to leave her behind. Apollo and the Chief had all they could handle making sure everyone got clear of the fire and inside the bulkhead doors before the area was vented. Not to mention if she came to and found herself in someone's arms she did not immediately recognize, Cottle would have to bring a stretcher built for two – one for her and the person she incapacitated. Friendship was one thing. More than once, he had been there when she had saved their collective asses by using her unorthodox thinking, unflagging courage or her blatant refusal to take 'no' for an answer. Muscle strain was a small price to pay to keep a friend, fellow pilot, a hell of a Triad, Pyramid, woman and human being out of Hades' hands.

Making eye contact with Chief Tyrol across a piece of equipment they were manually moving, Galen answered the Captain's question with a nod in the direction where Helo was slowing to a stop. "Go. I got this. If I need you, I'll call you."

Setting his end down carefully, Lee barely glanced at the Chief before breathing in and sprinting away. Tyrol saved Starbuck and Lee saved Cally. They were square – for now.

Coming up on Helo, Lee could see Karl struggling to keep Kara in his arms. Even for a man the size of Agathon, the events of the last few minutes would be draining on anyone regardless of how much he could bench press. Starbuck was no lightweight. She was five-feet-six-inches of long lines and toned muscles. She was sculpted a lot like her Viper: clean, elegant lines and proudly defiant power. Sliding both his arms underneath her knees, he lifted her lower half free until she was cradled between the both of them.

Stooping down at the same time, her bottom and lower back were the first parts of her body they set down. Helo was mincing his steps backwards, getting ready to rest her shoulders when Apollo's voice cut in.

"Helo – stop! Her shoulder is dislocated."

"Copy that, Apollo." Adjusting his grip, Helo angled his chest so that her good shoulder was set down first. Looking down at her face as her head rolled to the side and her cheek touched the deck, Helo suppressed a shudder. He knew the pain of a dislocated shoulder. For Starbuck to be indifferent to that kind of pain meant one of two things in his book. One: she was really out of it, like comatose out of it. Two: something else was wrong with her that was greater than a joint popped out of place. He did not bother coming up with a third variable – the combination of 'one' and 'two' were enough to get his imagination going as to what was wrong with his friend.

"How's her knee?" Helo asked.

Keeping her knees together, Lee set both legs down – the right one nestled against the left as a buffer – on the deck at the same time as Helo let go of her good shoulder. Gingerly feeling up her calf and applying slight pressure as he probed her right knee, he could not feel any excess fluid around her patella through her flight suit.

"It seems to be okay." Pivoting on his knees and crawling up along side her, Lee looked across Kara's prone form and locked his eyes with Helo's. "Go – get the medic over here. I'll stay with her."

"No time, Sir – she's stopped breathing again!"

Ripping at her flight suit, Lee used brute force to split the zipper and break the buckles. Trading the potential cost to her shoulder for the more immediate need to get her breathing again, the material was spread wide to reveal a pair of sweaty double tanks, evidence of the mental strain and the physical toll that took hold of Starbuck when she struggled to bring her plane to safety.

Seeing Helo take his position over her chest, Lee cupped her chin with one hand and held it while his other hand slipped behind her head to tilt her neck back so that her airway would be completely unobstructed. Pinching her nose, Lee puffed two rescue breaths into Kara. Karl saw her chest rise with Lee's air in her only to fall back when it rushed out.

Reaching for her wrist, Helo saw the pattern of her Viper's throttle embedded in the skin of her palm. Framing the back for her hand against his fingers, he used his thumb to feel for her pulse.

Lee read Helo's grim expression for what it was – Kara's heart had stopped.

He was calm to the point of detachment. This, he know how to do. Rescue breathing, CPR, advanced first aid. That was all part of his training. Sliding into automatic was saving his mind and emotions. It kept the questions and panic that whispered in his ears and around his heart at bay.

Helo counted out five compressions and Lee followed with two rescue breaths.

The sound of Karl's counting crowed in his ears. Taking a deep breath, Lee puffed two more breaths into Kara.

"Come on Starbuck – fight!" Helo ordered.

Lee watched Kara's ribcage flex under Helo's hands. Closing his eyes, he pulled breath from his soul and blew it into Kara's unresponsive body when Helo counted to 'five' for the third time. Lifting his head, Lee's eyes fixated on where Helo's thumb draped against the thinnest part of Kara's wrist.

"I've got a pulse!" Helo announced. Sitting back on his heels, his hands entwined to re-start compressions if necessary, Helo waited for Apollo to do his job: keep Starbuck breathing until the medic could get there.

Drawing a breath that filled both his lungs to bursting, Lee pushed more air into Starbuck's chest and held the seal against her lips. In his mind, it was one thing to jump start Kara's heart, he needed to get her soul to breathe. Using the last of his own air, he puffed a third breath deeper into her chest, flooding her entire body with his need for her to live. Her sudden exhale had him drawing back sharply. Blood and froth were spit onto the hanger deck as Kara's lungs began expanding and falling raggedly on their own.

A hand coming out of nowhere and giving his shoulder a re-assuring squeeze had him jumping to his feet and falling under the gaze of his father.

"Son, Helo – step back." Seeing blood on Lee's chin and on the flight deck near Lee's feet Adama's voice became even quieter. "Are you all right?"

"It's not mine." Lee said. The events of the past twelve minutes were etched into every locked muscle in his body as he swiped at the trail of Kara's blood that clung to his face.

"How long has she been out?" The sound of squealing, ball-jointed wheels and the scent of cigarettes teased his senses as Doc Cottle elbowed his way past Lee as an orderly and a nurse crouched down next to Kara and started attending to her.

"I don't know. She came to for a moment when we lifted her out of her Viper, but beyond that …" Lee answered the doctor's question. Tubing for an IV line was being played out by the orderly. "It took about two minutes to restart her heart."

"What about her breathing? How long was she without oxygen?"

"It was about forty-five seconds later before she started breathing on her own. But Doc, when I was doing mouth-to-mouth …" Lee started to explain.

"Yes?"

"My mouth filled with blood – her blood. I think her lungs are flooded." For the first time since his boots hit the deck, an edge of fear underscored Lee's words.

"Doctor Cottle?" The attending nurse anxiously interrupted the Captain. "I cannot raise a vein to start the line."

Watching the doctor rend Starbuck's flight suit even more, he saw Cottle lift her tanks and press a hand against her abdomen. "It's not coming from her lungs." Looking at the three men, he said, "She's hot."

Tossing his medical bag at Lee, Cottle snapped at the orderlies that had followed him down from sickbay.

"Load her up! She is bleeding out!"

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His shift ended three hours ago and Kara was still in surgery.

Thumping his head against the wall was a poor substitute for pacing, but at the moment his father had the floor and Doc Cottle's office was not big enough for both of them to be on their feet.

Clean up on the hanger bay went smoothly. As much as he felt like Tigh was an albatross around his father's neck, the XO was efficient in ordering what needed to be done to get the Battlestar back to alert-readiness. Tyrol had Cally occupied re-sealing the holes that had been carved into the Raptors and Helo was overseeing the re-construction of the split parachutes.

All through his shift, the story of Starbuck landing her crippled Viper raced like a wildfire through the Galactica rumour mill. Everywhere he went, he was either asked for more details about what happened or someone approached him with what they thought were juicy bits of 'inside information' that the C.A.G. might not have heard yet. One report that crossed his desk came from the Aerilon Maiden. The sensors from that ship clocked Starbuck doing eight g's as she pulled her bird across their stern.

Kat, Monkey Boy, Skid Mark and Hot Dog had already checked in with the sickbay duty nurse, rolled up their sleeves and donated blood and plasma in the name of Starbuck. Kara bringing in her Viper and being alive enough to end up on Doc Cottle's operating table was enough to revitalize the crews' morale in a way that all the pep-talks, destroyed Raiders and Colonial Day celebrations did not. Pep talks were only effectual if they spoke to some aspect of someone's soul. Raiders meant Cylons and Cylons were robots – sentient, yes – but robots just the same. Kill one and ten more can be made before one nugget gets his wings. Colonial Day was a once-a-year event in which the sparkle of the evening wanes as the date slips further into memory. But Starbuck, circling the fleet as to try to keep herself from destroying the Galactica, the Guardian of the Fleet, was being held up as the Protector of the Guardian. But, the most interesting aspect was that her past mistakes were not being glossed over. It was the fact that she did what she did despite of everything she had done before that boosted the spirits of more than forty-seven thousand souls from twelve different worlds. Drinking, gambling, smoking, AWOL, befriending a 'toaster', insubordination, being on the brink of a court-marshal more than once – all that factored into how an everyday person, with their own set of troubles and baggage, can ensure the continuation of the human race.

Kara Thrace was no ordinary person. She was the best pilot in the fleet – and a contender for that title before the worlds ended. She was up-and-coming at the Academy when he was already embroiled in War College, but he had heard about her. And not because of what had happened between her and Major What's His Face. That little incident might have cost Starbuck her place at the elite Nova Squadron table, but it did earn her a planet-side teaching gig. What was doled out as punishment turned out to be a gift. As well as a family: the Adama family. Zak fell in love, Lee found a kindred spirit, his mother found a project and the Old Man finally found a daughter that encapsulated everything he ever envisioned for his own two sons.

It was Kara – being loud, comfortable and completely oblivious that their father was standing right behind her when she put her foot in her mouth – that gave Bill Adama a new nick-name. He remembered the feeling of a full-body flush spreading from his fingers to his toes as Kara, having his brother completely at her mercy for some infraction struggling to get free, teasing Zak that not even his Old Man could get him out of 'this one' as his father looked on at his son being trounced by a girl in his own back yard. Lee froze; Zak started to sputter and refocused his efforts to get free of Kara's grip. Kara, as only she could do, immobilized Zak further, looked at his father, gave him this … look. She asked him, point blank, the mighty William Adama, if she was right. Lee could still see his father evaluate Zak's position, Kara's form as she kept Zak pinned in that position and the fact that Lee had not intervened before inclining his head at Kara, smiling at the fact that she had the upper hand with all three of them and saying, "As you were,". After that, he, Zak and Kara would refer to his father as The Old Man in private and then more loosely amongst themselves in public. From there, it spread.

It was her propensity for nick-naming – both disparagingly and encouragingly – that 'ensured' all her nuggets got such personalized call signs. In certain circumstances, she even re-christened certain pilots with new call signs. There were two things he never asked her about call signs. The first was how she got hers – he could not piece together how Starbuck equalled Kara Thrace. The other was the call sign she gave Zak. Lee knew Zak had to have had one, and that Kara would have been the one to give it to him, but he never asked her what it was and she had never volunteered that bit of information. The only thing he did know – because he knew Kara – was that whatever that call sign was, no one else would ever be assigned that name. That would never happen. Not in this lifetime or the next.

"What are you thinking about?" Bill asked Lee.

A ghost of a smile pulled at one corner of his mouth.

"She came in to my office yesterday promising to singe off a nugget's back hair with her lighter if I did not change his call sign."

"Because?" Adama prompted. Sickbay was not one of his favourite places and hearing Lee's story about Starbuck's latest 'mission' was going to be good for him to take his mind off the smell of antiseptic.

"He clogged the drain in the forward head to the point that it backed up. Seelix was scheduled to make a Raptor run, transferring personnel from The Intrepid to The Rising Star and as she was getting ready, she slipped and fell, straining her ankle." Seeing his father's up-raised eyebrow, Lee answered his question. "Seelix is fine – a cold compress and elevation had her back on rotation by today's mid-shift. But Kara, coming off of C.A.P, never got a chance to shed her flight suit before she beat a path back to the hanger deck and made the run."

"And?" Adama knew something was missing from the story. Starbuck was a little hot headed but she loved to fly. Making an extra run – even if she was butt-tired – meant more time in the sky and that meant a happier Starbuck.

"Dad – think about it. Starbuck – on the Rising Star – but being restricted to the hanger bay. No Triad, no booze, no stogies and having to be nice to people," Lee ticked off on his fingers everything she was denied that defined who she was.

"And the best part, what really got her riled up," Lee could still see her, striding across his office, with her hands on her hips, laughing at herself as her need for a pound of Monkey Boy's flesh became their mutual amusement when Lee pointed out to her, and now is father, what was making him smile at a time like this. "She did it to herself – she did not check the mission profile beyond seeing that it was a run to the Rising Star. You should have heard her comments over the comm when she was told that she had to stay with her Raptor and wait for the civilian staff persons to arrive on the hanger deck."

Both men shared a rueful smile over the mental image of Starbuck grinding her teeth the whole time she was on that ship and having to do 'the pretty' in front of people who would not appreciate how one of Galactica's finest could make the word 'frak' be an adjective, adverb, noun, verb and someone's first, last and middle name all in one sentence.

Adama shook his head. "No good deed goes unpunished."

Lee's head snapped up in surprise at his father's words. "That's what she said."

Shooting a sidelong glance at his son, Adama gravelled voice was wry. "She would have – she taught that saying to me."

"She's seizing!" A female's voice cut across sickbay.

"By the Gods, Thrace – make up your mind. Are you going to live or die on my table?" The sound of Cottle's voice cursing a string of expletives and snapping at his staff chased the levity out of the room.

Their girl was in trouble and all they could do was look at each other and to themselves.

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Whatever she decided was going to be the right choice. For once, there was no wrong option. No need to depend on what felt right or felt wrong. A couple of times she had thought she had made up her mind, only to stop and enjoy the peace and quiet that stretched around her.

It was just like her father had told her – she did not have to do anything she did not want to do.

There were no Cylons chasing her, wanting her for some sick, twisted, toaster-centric machination. There was not a squadron of pilots counting on her. There was not the emotional and physical draw that Lee exuded that spoke to her soul and frightened her heart in this place. Kara, Lieutenant Thrace and Starbuck were one person – not three facets of the same woman in this place. She was the nine year old girl, whose life was as perfect as a nine-year old's should be, being reassured that no matter what she did, it would be perfect.

There was no tunnel, no bright light, and no private transport waiting for her. There was no squaring of her shoulders, deep breaths or walking off.

It was just her, closing her eyes and making up her mind.

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A Heavy Raider transport was on approach to the Baystar. Off the port bow, a squadron of Attack Raiders that were flying escort veered off and rounded the massive ship.

Docking and powering down, it was several minutes before the exit portal swung open and the ramp extended. At the base of the ramp, Doral, Leoben and D'Anna were waiting in attendance.

God was truly blessing them this day. They could feel it collectively. One of their brothers had been called home to do His divine work and aid them in their mission.

Sharon was the first to step foot on the Baystar. The humbleness she felt was etched in her every motion as she stopped at the foot of the ramp, turned and looked expectantly up into the darkened passenger area of the Heavy Raider.

A series of genuine smiles spread across the four faces of the Cylon human models. In turn, they all greeted their long sequestered brother.

"Welcome back, Number Two."

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	5. Chapter 5: Answered Prayers

**ANOTHER WAY: CHAPTER 5**

**ANSWERED PRAYERS**

"What the frak? Do you have to do that near me?" Her eyes were barely open but the smell was enough to make her want to gag.

Her voice sounded strange and her throat burned. It felt like someone had stuffed a Raptor burner down her mouth and then kicked the engine into overdrive for a few million parsecs.

"My domain, my rules, my cigarettes – so yes – I do need to do this near you because you are in my domain, under my rules." Doc Cottle slid her chart into the cubby hole at the foot her bed. "Gotta love the gratitude you Viper pilots so readily offer."

Seeing her struggle to raise herself off her pillow earned her a two-finger finger wag – the two fingers it took to keep his cigarette from dropping to the floor, and a dead-pan promise. "You move and I will pipe cigarette smoke directly into your oxygen line."

A subtle head movement confirmed that what she thought were strands of hair tickling her nose was in fact tubing reaching into her nostrils. "So that is why my throat feels like someone shoved-"

"No. You can thank that lovely apparatus to you right for making you feel like someone crammed a Pyramid ball into your down your oesophagus." Cigarette smoke traced his hand movements as he pointed out the ventilator that was not five feet from her bed.

In fact, as her vision sharpened, so did the aesthetics of her surroundings. Sickbay. _Oh joy_. And more machines than she could name.

"How long have I been here?"

"Well – that depends on what you are referring to. Are you talking about being alive or dead?" Cottle did not pull any punches. His bedside manner was as sensitive as always.

"Lucky me, I get the doc that talks about existentialism." It hurt to talk, hell it hurt to think, but spitting out one-liners at least told her she was awake. "What are you talking about?"

"Damn straight you are lucky. And what I am talking about is you – dying at least once an hour for the first forty-one hours then giving me and my staff a break by going into cardiac arrest, convulsing into grand mal seizures or deciding that your blood pressure was not low enough and bleeding out again every five hours up until yesterday." Snubbing out his butt in the near by metal tray, he took out his pack and tapped out another smoke. Making a show of enjoying the first drag off of a freshly lit cigarette, he pointed at her again. "The best one was when you ripped out your IV lines in your sleep as you screamed at someone named Simon that you would see him in hell. That was when you went into shock. I'll tell ya – I did not see that one coming. But then again, someone failed to tell me that they suffered kidney damage recently. Or tell me anything else, for that matter. Why would you? After all, I am only your doctor."

Starbuck decided that silence would be the better side of valour in the wake of his barely camouflaged reprimand.

"Yeah – I thought as much. Were you ever going to tell me?" Doc Cottle looked at her expectantly.

"That I'm allergic to dagget fur?" She knew her come back was weak, but so was she. "A girl's got to keep some mystery about her." Whatever strength she thought she had was quickly waning.

"Remind me to have your cockpit re-upholstered so that I can see your reaction." Her glib remark was not the answer he was looking for and, judging by the way she was looking at him to gauge his response to her attempt to deflect him; she knew she was sorely testing his patience. Standing up, he walked to her bedside and reached for the syringe that was resting next to her next batch of electrolytes.

Taking another pull on his cigarette before balancing it on the rim of the metal pan, he waved the needle in her direction. "I am going to put this into your line. This cocktail is better than anything the Chief can brew in that damn still of his. It is combination of a muscle relaxer – so that you do not pull any of your internal stitches while you rest – and a powerful antibiotic to keep infection at bay and an anti-coagulant to minimize the formation of a blood clot. You have been inert for a while now and the only exercise you have had has been you, fighting me, to keep you alive."

"Why are you telling me this?" Her eyes were getting heavy and he had not even piped his special sauce into her veins.

"I do not want you to have another episode in your sleep. Accusations that I am trying to kill you will frak with my mal-practice insurance premiums."

Cottle looked down at where his patient was lying and gave her a friendly leer.

"And, truth be told Thrace, you are one of the few people on this bucket that actually gives as good as she gets and she keeps this old man amused from time to time patching up what you dish out on a regular basis." Cottle's gruff tone was vaguely affectionate. Inserting the syringe and squeezing the plunger slowly and steadily, he asked, "Is that a good enough reason for you, Lieutenant?"

"Thanks, Doc," was her murmured reply before exhaustion overtook her.

Seeing her cheek rest against the pillow and no further movement to undo what he had spent the past eight days reconnecting, patching, cauterizing and sewing, he walked away from his patient that was almost as much a pain in the ass as he was.

He needed a smoke and someone to yell at. If anyone had heard him 'fessing to Thrace that he actually liked someone – especially her – then his reputation for being a crotchety, tough old bird was in danger. And that would never do.

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She was not alone. Someone was bending over her, coming at her from her right side. Someone was using the pads of their fingers to trace abstract patterns all over the left side of her chest.

The scent of sandalwood was the only thing that kept that 'someone' from becoming that 'someone minus one arm'.

"Damn, Lee – if you wanted to cop a feel – there are easier ways to go about it and not get caught with your hands in the cookie jar." Starbuck smirked at her friend as he jerked his hand away from the front closure of her hospital gown that had been folded open and laid flat to expose a good portion of her left breast.

Hastily wiping the salve from his fingers, Lee saw her smirk and the urge to smile at her being awake and talking to him or wipe that Starbuck expression off her face with a well placed come-back competed for tongue-space.

"That is rich coming from the lips of Little Miss 'I Am Not as Quiet as I Think I Am When I Am Alone in My Bunk In The Middle Of the Night'."

"Been waiting to say that long?" Starbuck asked.

"Only a couple of months," Lee confessed. Realizing that she remembered what he said to her the day before the worlds ended earned her an Adama-esque nod and wholly-Lee raised eyebrow.

'Not bad, Apollo." Ticking her tongue against the inside of her cheek told him she approved of his use of role reversal. A quirky smile reached her tired eyes. "Sorry to burst your happy-bubble Perve-Boy, but that was not me you were hearing. That was Racetrack thinking about Helo. But don't you dare say anything – to either of them. Because if you do, then I will have no choice but to spread the tale of what you did to the Commandant when you-"

"-Did absolutely nothing that anyone else needs to know about. Or was aided and abetted by a certain Cadet Thrace who had an axe to grind of her own against said Commandant. Now, thanks to you, I am going to have to send out a requisition request for brain bleach in order to purge the image of Racetrack wanking while thinking of Agathon." Lee exaggerated a shudder for her benefit.

"Come on now – be nice. Helo is not that bad." Starbuck teased some more. "All big and buff…"

"Don't tell me you?" Lee's look finished his sentence better than any words he could have said.

"Me? Karl? NO! Thinking about him 'doing the deed' is like asking your little brother about the first time he got laid. No way," Kara pulled a face like something sour had settled on her tongue and slipped into Starbuck mode. "You know it happened, but you don't want to think about it. Your brother, doing the things to someone, that you yourself like having done to you when frakking someone – you know what I mean?"

Camaraderie and relief at seeing one another evaporated the instant Starbuck crossed onto territory of which she had no visitation rights. Saying that she put her foot her foot in her mouth would be an understatement. In one fell swoop she conjured images and memories that she, Lee and the Old Man were still beating themselves and each other up over.

"Sorry, Lee." Kara's voice, not Starbuck's bravado, was nearly a whisper that carried enough guilt for all three of them.

A minute shake of her head and a subtle shift in her posture and Kara was all Starbuck. Who shot Lee a cheeky grin and a saucy wink.

"So, sailor – gonna tell me why I woke up with your hand on my girls?"

Accepting the out she gave him, Lee matched her Starbuck to his Apollo.

"I was just doing my duty, ma'am – doing my bit for the benefit of all man-kind." Apollo was all boyish charm. Brandishing a nearly forgotten tube of salve, he was chivalry incarnate. "Doc says that dabbing this ointment on you a couple of times a day will keep you from scarring."

"What the hell did that butcher do to me?" Starbuck demanded. If Cottle cut her open more than he admitted too… If what he did kept her out of the sky longer than she should be, then she could not be held accountable for her actions as she cooked up and served a whoop-ass sized portion of retribution-a-la-Starbuck.

"Easy, Starbuck. That man saved your life." Apollo reminded his wingman.

"Okay. Fine. He lives." Drowsiness was crowding the edges of her vision. The sudden adrenaline spike cost her energy that she did not have Rescinding her claim on Cottle's life was a way to back down without admitting that she was flagging. Looking at Apollo, who was still leaning forward in his chair, his forearms resting against his thighs, looking up at her, she had to break the heavy silence that was starting to creep in and fill the corners of her curtains.

"'Fess." The word was a challenge, a teasing comment and a command all rolled into one inflection.

Sitting up and scooting his chair closer to her bedside, Apollo lowered his voice. "All over your left side, you have a pair of burns on your chest that matches the number of times you flatlined and were brought back by a defibulator jump-starting your heart, Starbuck."

Starbuck was not prepared for serious tone Apollo used. "The doc said…-"

Apollo was gone in a blink of eye. In his place was, on good days, her best friend. Other days, he was still her best friend but it sometimes hard to tell as she was usually pissed at him for one reason or another. Today was a bad day, but she was not pissed. It was not every day her mortality was flung in her face with a flick of a blue-eyed gaze.

"Kara. I am not going to sugar coat this. It was bad. You died so many times." He looked at the ceiling to keep her from seeing what was replaying in his mind but he could not control the way his voice drew out his last three words.

Giving up on keeping his vulnerability in check, he let his words carry the same emphasis he heard in his head come out of his mouth.

"Cottle's staffs were physically and emotionally maxed out. Cottle was exhausted. And that was just by taking care of you and answering one emergency after another. Other cases came in and still, you toned. You could not be left alone. If we were on Caprica, you would have been in I.C.U .with a nurse assigned to you and a doctor on call." The days of her dubious survival played out in his eyes and the way his hands waved about in the space between them. "So Cottle taught me, Dad, Helo and Cally how to defibulate you, in case you flatlined when the nurses were otherwise engaged. Good thing he did because you crashed, Thrace: left, right and centre. Gods, Kara, at one point I walked in, three different alarms were going off all at the same time, and there was Cally, bent over you, trying to find a spot on your chest that had not been previously marked, before applying those frakking paddles."

What he left out was the rotation schedules that had been worked out so that C.A.P, refuelling runs, scouting missions and a bedside vigil for Kara could all exist at the same time. What he left out was the first time he put the paddles to her skin and coached himself – out loud – through the step-by-step procedure of re-starting her system as he watched half her body buck against his outstretched arms as bolts of life saving electricity were force-channelled into her heart. What he left out was how he never saw her breasts each time her gown was yanked wide by hurried hands intent on bringing her back one more time. What he left out was that all he saw were burn marks, in various stages of healing, standing out starkly against previously unmarred skin. What he left out was how, with each application of salve he, Cally, and Helo applied to her skin, they were each asking for her forgiveness for ricocheting her against the front end of the landing pod. According to Cottle's report, that was when the majority of the damage to her body was done. When she was slammed into her seat, her body had no where to go and nothing to absorb the shock of the impact so it transferred to her stomach lining, a not nearly healed kidney and her ribcage, fracturing four ribs. One of those jagged edges of broken bone punctured and deflated one of her lungs. This explained why her lips turned blue when she was first extracted from the cockpit and why she stopped breathing when she was set down on the deck. Ironically, because the fractures to her ribs occurred underneath her shoulder blades, where her back was jolted against the unforgiving shell of her Viper, the CPR he and Helo performed actually played a crucial role to her lying awake in front of him.

Lee was telling her what she wanted to hear, as macabre as that sounded. She was a warrior and a warrior deserves to know where, how and to what extent they are wounded. But as a woman, fellow ship-mate and friend to Lee, Cally, Helo and the Old Man, he was laying debts at her feet she could not immediately repay, if ever. Sure, she could protect them with her life. She did that every time she climbed those seven steps up that ladder and settled into the cockpit of her Viper. Those debts were blood-rights that a warrior paid to her tribe. What those four did for her: Kara, the woman, bunk-mate, fellow-human-being was … unsettling. Knowing that they did it without a second thought and without being asked made her even more uncomfortable. It was one thing for her to do things for them. But, feeling the burden of responsibility of living up to their expectations of friendship was disturbing. It meant that more would be at stake when she eventually frakked everything up and set them all off kilter – like she had done with Lee since the moment he came to see her in hack.

Dragging herself out of her thoughts, she considered the man in front of her. Who was currently standing and facing the curtains so that she could not see his face. So that she would not play on his vulnerability of seeing his friend die more than once. Inhaling deeply, drawing in traces of sandalwood, she steeled herself. Today was a new day in which she had only hurt him, albeit unintentionally, once. She did not know how long it would last given her temper and 'sunny disposition', but she planned on keeping her daily tallies to a minimum from here on out and she was starting with right here, right now.

"Lee?" Kara – not Starbuck – called out to the man whose shoulders carried a load almost as great as hers.

Turning around, Lee expected some dismissive comeback or mock flirtation. Instead, he was looking at Kara. The real Kara Thrace, the girl her brother fell in love with and the woman who challenged him to be a better pilot, a sharper leader and keep his humanity from diminishing, every day.

"Yeah, Kara?" His voice was soft. It did not carry the shield he usually hefted to keep Starbuck's barbs at bay or her eyes from seeing more than they should.

"Will… you…"

Why was this so hard? Starbuck gave her an answer that was the truth: she did not ask for help – she did not ask for anything. If she wanted something, she earned it. If it was something that could not be earned and needed to be seized - she took it. Stamping Starbuck down, Kara admitted that she did not know how to do this well, but she did remember, as a young girl, asking her father if he liked what she drew and knowing that what he thought was as important as drawing the picture in the first place. She did not need Lee's approval. She was her own woman and on that level she knew she had his respect as an officer, tactician and fellow pilot. As a friend, that was a completely differently arena in which they were both on unstable ground riddled with fault lines.

"Will you sit with me until I fall asleep?" Glancing up at the nearly depleted bag of fluids suspended from a standee set between the heart monitor and the deactivated ventilator, it would not be long before she got another dose of Doc Cottle's special sauce.

It was a struggle to keep his face even. Kara – not Starbuck – was lying in front of him and asking him for something. And not in a clingy, demeaning way. She was still the fiercest warrior, pilot, woman, Triad player, officer in the fleet. And she was not asking him for something he could not give or would compromise him in any way by saying 'yes' to her request. Kara needed Lee to be her friend and stay with her until she fell asleep. That was something he was glad to do. Despite being an 'enlightened man', there was still that primal part of him that needed to be needed. That providing the kind of companionship she needed the most validated places inside of him he had to guard carefully from Starbuck. It also started to fill in the myriad of cracks that ran the length and breadth of their friendship.

"Yes."

Thoughts of quantifying his time with her, telling her not to be surprised if she woke up and found Cally sitting next to her, a blithe comment about paperwork that could wait until later to be done – all these crossed his mind but never made it past his teeth. Because he realized that he was over thinking again. She asked him to stay until she fell asleep – nothing more. She knew he had things to do. That was why she did not ask him for more than what he could do.

Enjoying the sleepy smile that reached her eyes, Lee unlaced his boots and toed them off. With that done, he slouched down until the back of his head touched the backing of his chair. Folding his hands around his arms and across his chest, he balanced himself by propping his feet up and onto her bed just inches from her leg. Cocking his head to one side so that she could see his face more clearly, he did not break eye contact with her nor did she let go of his eyes until her lids dropped of their own volition.

Watching her sleep, it was a few minutes more until he realized that he had yet to re-close her gown. Carefully, as not to wake her, he lifted his feet off her bed and stood up. For the second time in an hour, he was bent over her. But, instead of him helping her to heal, they were helping each other apply balms to wounds that could only be seen behind words, actions and pride. Letting go of everything – for the moment – Lee resettled in his chair, put his feet back up on her bed and took up a different kind of vigil than the one he had been sharing with four other people. This was a watch that was entirely his own.

The regular beeping of her heart monitor became a slower, steadier rhythm that he found his own body quickly matching before dreamless sleep passed from her to him.

When the nurse came in to hang a fresh bag of electrolytes and administer Lt. Thrace's medication, she did so as quietly and as unobtrusively as possible. Stopping by the duty desk, she left word that unless one of the alarms went off in Thrace's 'room' then she could wait until the next shift to have her sutures redressed and her vitals recorded. Lt. Thrace was in the company of the best non-medical specialist for her case who went by the name of Captain Adama.

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Sharon was praying. She was thanking God for his many blessings and asking for His guidance for what was to come.

Her brother – their brother – was home and ready to do what he was born to do before necessity had driven him to abort carefully laid plans and, have all his likenesses destroyed so that there was no chance of their hand being tipped before Liberation Day, and seek refuge on their adoptive home world.

He had been biding his time well, she thought as the quiet of the Baystar allowed her to commune more closely with God.

The past eight days had been fraught with uncertainty. Every since news of Starbuck's accident was relayed by their spy network, Number Two had been more focused on the task at hand. Working and re-working the plan He gave them until every contingency had a counter-move and that there were as many exit strategies as there were infiltration points.

Now, all they needed to do was to wait for God to tell them when to move.

Uneasiness settled behind her clasped hands and a frown creased her forehead. A sense of guilt trembled her lashes before He set His soothing palm against her soul and chased away her doubt.

_Humans should really be more difficult to trick, trap and enslave than this…_

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	6. Chapter 6: Justifiable Fears

**ANOTHER WAY: CHAPTER 6**

**JUSTIFIABLE FEARS**

_After-hours, in the rec-room, at the Triad tables…_

"Attention – Gimp on deck!"

Constanza was the only one in the slightly crowded rec-room who snapped to attention without thinking about who was actually on the deck or the title announced.

"Gimp, my ass Helo – you had better be talking about yourself. And Constanza, sit your ass down so that Captain Adama can take your money properly." Starbuck said as she approached the table, leaning heavily on a cane and favouring her left side.

Lee looked up at her as she waved Helo off of her arm and only spared half an eye watching Agathon find a spare bit of wall to prop his shoulders against. Everything else he used to appraise Kara. She was pale, a little drawn but otherwise she looked one-hundred percent Starbuck: cocky grin, razor sharp one-liners and the lazy sensuality that only served to amplify a swagger that half the men in the fleet could not hope to carry off with the same measure of success. The only thing that was missing was the barely-zipped hooded sweatshirt she used to wear when she played Triad. But, then again, she had not worn that since her return from Caprica.

"Since you have been on hiatus, I actually have money to lose Starbuck." Hot Dog chortled, not realizing that what she had said was actually a backhanded insult that he further re-enforced.

Catching Kara's attention with a shake of his head, he let Starbuck state the same thought that was on the tip of his tongue. "Glad to know that you are still the mental giant I have come to know and expect so little from, Hot Dog."

As much as he would love to hear what ever insults and comebacks she had been thinking of and storing up since being confined to sickbay, Lee had another priority that needed addressing.

"This is good for me because not only do I call, but the spectrum is mine people: full colours!" Lee laid down his cards to a round of groans and two laughs – one more of a male-to-male chuckle and the other more of the throaty variety.

"Damn, Apollo. I thought I had you that time." Hot Dog slumped into his chair and tossed his cards down on the table.

Gathering up his winnings, Lee offered an olive branch to the sulking nugget. "Don't worry Constanza, just because you cannot keep up with the Big Kids, does not mean that you have to give up being King of the Kiddie Table."

A spattering of applause came from those who heard his zinger.

Kara nodded in agreement. "Listen to him, Hot Dog. The man knows what he is talking about. Why, it was just last week that he learned to drink from a cup without using a straw and look at him now – he can play with the big dogs and stand up while using the head instead of sitting and tucking."

Shooting a wounded look at Starbuck, Lee rose to her bait. "Frak, Starbuck – you said you would not tell anyone."

"Who said I was referring to you, Apollo?" Kara feigned innocence and then cocked a thumb in Helo's direction. "I was talking about Agathon. But if you wanna go into telling stories and airing dirty laundry…" She let her voice trail off deceptively.

"Hey! What did I do?" Helo popped his lollipop out of his mouth long enough to point it Kara before sliding the candy back between his tongue and cheek. Talking around the stick in his mouth, he warned, "Careful Starbuck – what can be considered fair game is very subjective and I have just as much dirt on you as you have on me."

"No way are we going there, Starbuck. I like my dirty laundry right where it is – in the bottom of my locker, thank you very much." Lee stood up and pulled his BDU jacket from off of the back of his chair. "However, that does not mean that I suddenly have this urge to share what a certain former-cadet-now-Galactica's-flight-instructor might have done to a certain bunkette… Helo, didn't you hear something about that while you were at the Academy?" Lee looked expectantly at Agathon, inviting him to play along.

Pulling away from the wall, accepting Apollo's insinuation, Karl piped up. "Come to think of it, yeah I did hear something about that. There was this legend circulating around campus about someone named Thrace and some sort of incident involving someone-or-another that had reached almost mythic proportions by the time I heard it."

"You are bluffing." Kara cut him off with a laugh. "You have no idea what you are talking about. You were not even on campus when that went down."

"But I was, Starbuck." Lee folded his arms across his chest and quirked an eyebrow in her direction. His challenge was clear: let's see you get out of this one, Kara. "Or have you forgotten that night in your old age?"

Hot Dog lifted his chin off his chest. His dejected look over losing to Apollo vanished at the prospect of getting some gossip about his flight instructor.

"What? What did she do?"

A couple of slow steps in his direction had Starbuck bypassing the nugget and standing just outside of Lee's personal space. Her face was hard, but there was an element of teasing that hung around the edges of her jaw. He got the full force of a conspiratorial wink before she turned around and clapped her palms against the table top and zeroed in on Constanza.

"_Somehow_ some knock-out drops made it into this nymphyte's tube of toothpaste and _somehow_ she managed to sleepwalk her way out of the dorm." The way she emphasized 'somehow' was not lost on Lee or anyone, nor was the way Kara's voiced was steeped in double entendre as fit of coughing from Helo interrupted her story.

A cough that did not quite mask what Starbuck really did, "Dragged the girl clear across campus by her ankles."

Lee brought his own fingers to his mouth but stayed silent – and amused. Watching Starbuck torment a nugget meant that she was feeling better, as well as the additional perk of being entertained. Because as much as he remembered what she was like before the worlds ended, it was just as much an adventure to learn more about her as they all picked up the pieces of their lives and moved on despite having to survive a holocaust.

"Into the Commandant's office so that she was there, sprawled out on the sofa in his office, to greet him when he came in the next morning," Kara finished her story and straightened up with only a minor flash of discomfort flaring across her face.

Hot Dog took a couple of deep gulps as Lee saw him try to get his uneasiness under control. He knew what the nugget had to be thinking: if that was what Starbuck did as a cadet, what she could do to him now that she has had years to perfect her techniques, would be so much worse. Lee couldn't resist tightening the screws to Constanza's thumbs just a little more.

"What she is leaving out, Hot Dog, is that she stripped the bunkmate of her clothes and draped the young lady." Lee paused when Kara snorted at the term 'young lady'. "On top of an already knocked out and naked 'gentleman' who had the distinction of slipping pudding into Cadet Thrace's boots earlier that week because he lost to Starbuck on the firing range."

Somewhere in the back of the room a few chuckles could be heard. As far as they were concerned, anyone who was stupid enough to do something like that to Starbuck deserved whatever retribution she deemed worthy of extracting.

Turning her head towards where the laughter could be heard and she conceded that someone – once – had gotten one up on her.

"Yeah – well – I had to hand it to him. I never saw that one coming. I mean – who checks their boots?"

Tucking in his tanks and smoothing down his jacket, Lee turned to the group and issued a pop quiz.

"And what is the moral of this story, boys and girls?"

"Don't frak with Starbuck unless you are willing to pay the price."

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_Three weeks later…_

Images and words flashed against a star-scaped backdrop erratically and without rhyme or reason.

Cylon Raiders slicing through balls of fire that were once Colonial Vipers.

The haze of a radiation contaminated planet colouring the words that hung in the air between five different people, "What's missing is love."

Commands from CIC and wing-leaders issued too late and too by-the-book to save the squadron.

A tender finger caressing her ear while it's matching hand ghosted along the contours of her body.

A gentle looking dark-skinned man telling her, "A big guy named Anders brought you in."

Pilots filing out of the ready room, each were pressing their fingers against a picture of Lee – the same picture that hung in her duty locker – as they made their way to their planes.

Sharon, looking at her while Helo redressed the two new incisions on her abdomen, "If you volunteered, it would not have to be like that. They could even set you up with someone you like."

A quiet CIC as all eyes fell on her as she spoke quietly to Lt. Gaeta. "Tell Captain Adama: the back door is open."

Tainted sunlight from a sullied Caprican morning streaming in her face, was making her squint as she accused, "Like you two crazy kids?"

Her body arching off the mattress as waves of pleasure stole her voice and reduced her breathing to breathless pants while a pair of brown eyes looked down at her and found his own completion deep within her.

"Kara, I love you. If there is anything you want to talk about, I am here for you." Lee said as he leaned against her back, the chain-link wall separating them.

"Sue-Shaun, I want you to take the perimeter and watch our left flank."

A maelstrom of fire on the base tarmac as Zak's Viper crashed and ignited on impact.

The same dark-skinned man, Simon, telling her about Anders, "He's dead. Piece of shrapnel nicked his aorta and he bled to death."

The Chief, after admonishing her for bringing in a Viper sans its engine, asking in a quiet voice, "Did you hear about Apollo?" His voice filling in the words she could not bring herself to say.

Faster and faster the images and words spun around and echoed in her head. A sense of vertigo filled her as she looked across the last couple of months of her life.

It was too much: too much emotion, too much heartache, too many events that she had yet to even begin to sift through.

Pain, failures, accidents, incidents and victories few and far between were merging into unmitigated chaos. Chaos was making her heart hammer to the point where she thought it was physically thumping against her ribcage. She felt like she had too much blood in her body, that at any minute she was going to start seeing blood seep out of the pores in her skin. In her mind, she saw herself grabbing onto threads of thoughts and spools of reality, clawing and yanking at them, trying to get them sorted out before she went mad. Grasping, pulling, and forcing her way through the melee, her arms flailing trying to steady her, to…

Then, everything went black.

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Cally carefully put the safety cap back over the tip of the syringe. Slipping the used needle into her pocket, she used her other hand to pull out a small, sealed packet.

Breaking open the seal, Cally swabbed the alcohol pad against the puncture mark on Starbuck's neck and then reached down and grabbed the pilot's wrist and clocked her heart-rate against the chronometer on the wall. Despite having two doses of sedative pumped into her system, Starbuck's heart was still hammering away at an alarming rate.

Draping the older woman's arms across her stomach, Cally stepped back and faced away from Starbuck's now slumped form. Her body might be mostly healed, but judging from what she just witnessed and the deeply drawn circles underneath the other woman's eyes, Starbuck was far from being called well.

Steeling herself, Cally triggered her ear-piece and spoke to the two other persons tuned into the same frequency channel.

"This is Cally."

"Go ahead, Cally." Apollo's voice answered.

"Talk to me, Cally." Helo's voice mirrored the tension all three of them carried.

"We're in the brig, D Deck level."

"Helo – what's your six?" Apollo asked.

"I just left the gym – was going to make my way to Central Mess – you?" Helo countered.

"Checked my office and the Ready Room – was going to go to the Nugget Room next," Apollo offered. Switching subjects, he asked, "SitRep, Cally?"

"She's out Sirs. Two doses should give her about six hours of sleep – seven if she doesn't fight it." Cally had to fight to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"Repeat that Cally?" Helo sounded like he had stopped in mid-stride.

"I had to give her the whole needle. She wasn't going under. I thought she was going to hurt herself." Cally barely got the words out if her mouth as Starbuck's desperate thrashing and crying out replayed in her mind.

Both men swore into their earpieces. Apollo was the first to recover his composure.

"Okay. Leave her where she is. We'll deal with this tomorrow."

Cally nodded in agreement, and then looked back to the woman she called friend.

"Okay, done," Helo agreed.

A long pause stretched between the three of them as they all stood in different points in the Battlestar.

"Cally?" Apollo asked, breaking into her thoughts.

Smiling in spite of the situation, Cally apologized. "Sorry Sir. It's just, well…" Her voice trailed off but neither of the two men prompted her in continuing her train of thought. "She has been back in the air for a week now. You all can have your flight-statuses reinstated, go back to being duty-bound to lay down your lives for lowliest bastard in the fleet, but no one thinks of issuing you all licenses to live and be human."

Cally's heartfelt introspection touched Lee on a level he himself understood only all too well. Having had come back from injuries himself, he knew about the progression from being released from sickbay, to being saddled with 'light duties' while sitting in at the Triad tables and hearing about what was going on without actually being able to participate except on the most rudimentary level while biding time until cleared to being allowed to do maintenance shifts; repairing Vipers and Raptors. But Starbuck was flying again. She was in the air every day and did her job better than most. She stuck her landings, taught her classes, and flew her C.A.P rotations as if she hadn't been halfway down the River Styx seven weeks ago. The trade off was that it was Starbuck being behind the stick of her Viper, and it was Starbuck in the rec-rooms playing cards and it was Starbuck on the hanger deck mediating between the deck crew and the air-men, sparring in the gym and being social in the Mess halls. The only time he saw Kara was when she left the bunk room to go sleep somewhere else, during her nightmares and the moments after she woke up but before she donned her Starbuck persona.

"It just sucks, Sirs." Cally's voice echoed in his ears and had him looking up at the ceiling of the corridor. The fact that Cally was using the term 'you all' as a euphemism for all pilots and E.C.O.'s was not lost by any of them. "I see her everyday on the hanger deck and she one-hundred percent on the clock. She acts like she is fine, says that she is fine, but she isn't."

Drawing a deep breath, he let go of the platitudes that sprang to mind to assure the young specialist. Honesty was precious and for everything she did on the hanger deck and as a friend to him and Kara, Cally did not deserve anything less.

What was interesting was that it was Karl who spoke before he could.

"Yeah, Cally, it does suck. We are our jobs, what we do is as much part of our identities as it is the reason we risk never coming back every time we take to the air. It is a symbiotic relationship that destroys as much as it heals. But she would not want it any other way and neither would any of us – no matter how frakked up that sounds – because it satisfies a drive that cannot be met in any other medium."

"Nor can anyone of us explain it fully, Cally. It is a paradox with too many permutations." Apollo added to what Helo said. "But, we have a long way to go before we get to Earth so maybe, between now and then; we can figure it out – all of us – together."

His closing comments had all the elements of a dismissal without him having to actually have to tell Helo and Cally that they could go back to where they were before they went in search of Galactica's lead pilot.

Turning on his heels, Lee signed off and slipped the earpiece into the side pocket of his cargos. Walking back towards the Senior Officer's Bunk Room, he made a mental 'To Do' list that included being in a D Deck Level brig cell in five hours. In the mean time, he had some homework to do, specifically in regards to why Lieutenant Thrace was not sleeping in her bunk.

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Sharon, Doral, Leoben, D'Anna and Six all stood around the centre console, star charts and navigational components arrayed around them.

He had told them it was time, and he – Number Two – was ready.

Holding hands, head bent in prayer, all five thanked Him for His blessings and that His will be done before all others.

In turn each looked up and shared a gleam of anticipation that could almost be considered cruelly cold.

It was the voice over the comm, comfortably ensconced in his Heavy Raider with a compliment of eight Centurions, which sealed the fate of Kara Thrace.

Number Two closed the communal prayer with a caustic benediction.

"So say we all."

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	7. Chapter 7: The Gathering Dark

**ANOTHER WAY: CHAPTER 7**

**The Gathering Dark**

Sharon, Doral, Leoben, D'Anna and Six all stood around the centre console, star charts and navigational components arrayed around them.

He had told them it was time, and he – Number Two – was ready.

Holding hands, head bent in prayer, all five thanked Him for His blessings and that His will be done before all others.

In turn each looked up and shared a gleam of anticipation that could almost be considered cruelly cold.

It was the voice over the comm, comfortably ensconced in his Heavy Raider with a compliment of eight Centurions, which sealed the fate of Kara Thrace.

Number Two closed the communal prayer with a caustic benediction.

"So say we all."

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In the small hours between the third shift and first shift, sickbay was quiet. Most of the patients were asleep – either naturally or sedated – and the pared down staff spent the time making one last sweep of rounds and filling out end-of-shift paperwork at isolated work stations.

A lone figure slipped past cubicle after cubicle, silent and determined. What he wanted was safely secured in Cottle's office and Cottle's office was where he was going to get what he needed.

A swiftly entered sequence of letters and numbers punched into the key pad to the right of the door, and he was inside. A few quick, efficient strides had him sitting behind the doctor's desk. Considering the short, desktop lamp just inches from where the chair he was sitting in abutted the desk, his problem was solved when he spied a tall medical reference book on a wall-mounted shelf. Reaching for the tome, he spread the bound pages wide and set it between the edge of the desk and the lampshade. It was a perfect screen; he had enough light to read by at the same time it kept his presence to a minimum.

With that done he went to the file cabinet and scanned the labels on each face. The drawer that was second from the bottom he jimmied open. Thumbing through the tabs, he stopped only when he found the file he was looking for before sliding the drawer home.

Taking the file was one thing, but it would only tell him what he already knew – or at least suspected. What he needed to fully understand, to decipher what had been eluding him, was going to be found in Doc Cottle's personal logs. Logs that was very similar to what he and the Commander filled out on a daily basis. Logs that told the human side of every event that happened and allowed personal feelings and thoughts to be given the opportunity to be put to paper rather than bottled up or spoken in the dead of night to a dark room when the possibility of being overheard was slim-to-none. He needed to know more beyond the 'whom', 'what', and 'where'. The Doc's speculations were going to give him the ability to find out 'why', 'how come', and, 'I think this is because…'

He was working with layers, figuratively and literally. The file from the cabinet was layered against the larger log books and on top of those were his pad of paper and pen he was using to take notes.

Taking care to turn the oversized pages as silently as possible, he started with the most recent entries.

_**Age**: twenty-seven: four broken ribs, deflated right lung, dislocated right shoulder, moderate concussion, temporary swelling of the brain, separated stomach lining, non-life threatening contusions spread over twenty-three percent of patient's body. All life saving procedures taken and performed at surgical facility on Battlestar Galactica; Major Cottle was attending. **Prognosis:** doubtful of survival. If patient is still alive by the end of the week, then it would not be unreasonable to expect full recovery with minimal internal scarring. If patient pulls through and if internal infections do not set in, patient could be returned to flight status in as little as seven weeks, perhaps earlier if all physical therapy and medical protocols are adhered too. _

Pulling the log book closer to him, he flipped through the pages until he found a corresponding entry that matched the same time frame as Kara was in sickbay. He was not surprised to see her name in several places over the course of the three weeks she was confined to a bed. He focused on only the sentences that had to do with his mission.

_**Personal Note**: Never a dull moment. Starbuck is back and is in fine form and does not have to be conscious to make her presence known. Not sure she is going to make it this time. She keeps toning and needing to be re-opened. _

_**Personal Note:** outbreak of ptomaine poisoning on the Geminon Traveller. No deaths. Just lots of sick people; left instructions for prevention, treatment and will return in thirty-six hours for follow-ups. Found out that the decision to teach both Adamas, Agathon and the young deck specialist how to jump-start Thrace's heart was the right choice to make. If they had waited for me to get back, we would be fitting her for a coffin. Still not sure she is going to make it. She is still bleeding somewhere, and I have not found it yet. Good news is that the antibiotic regimen is working. No sign of infection so far._

_**Personal Note:** Third surgery for Thrace. No time to call Bill or anyone else. White blood cell shot through the roof but I could not find any trace of infection in any of her sutures. Nurse told me that she noticed Thrace's left hand pressing against her left side during one of her agitated states. Followed up and discovered that there was kidney damage I had no idea to look for – looks like a bullet wound. Damn fine work by who ever sewed her up, but the crash separated the barely knit scar tissue. Must keep eye on patient – there is potential for dialysis being required if she ever decides to conceive. Lords help us if Starbuck becomes pregnant. There is no way I am going to subject my staff to a hormonally challenged Starbuck. Speaking of which, must have a conversation with her about the ribbon of scar tissue I found hovering over one of her fallopian tubes and why she only has one ovary._

When did Kara get shot? Why didn't she tell anyone?

Tapping the end of his pen against the pad of paper, the image of Kara limping slightly as she stepped free of the air-lock on the Astral Queen materialized. He had always chalked up to her tweaking her knee while she was on Caprica. A little voice, sounding a lot like Zak, asked him if perhaps what he saw and what was reality could be two different things. The same voice asked why Helo insisted on carrying Kara's pack while they were on Kobal, leaving her with only having to trek through the terrain with the Arrow and her weapon strapped across her back.

_**Addendum:** Patient came back within days of release asking for medication to aid in sleep. Upon being pressed, patient grudgingly admitted to taking it upon herself to sleep in other areas of the ship as to not disturb others as her nightmares were growing more and more uncontrollable. Patient alluded to the possibility of being fired out of a gun turret of the primary batteries as she was running out of places to go. Also, patient hinted that it would be a shame if the stethoscope that hung around my neck somehow found its way up my rectum if I found myself too caught up in rules and regulations to pull my head out of my ass and help her get a little sleep. I had to laugh at that. Ended up giving patient a three week supply with the stipulation that she seeks out someone to talk too as post-traumatic stress is better resolved sooner than later. Also advised that script was non-habit forming – patient seemed particularly adamant that there had to be a non-narcotic option._

He frowned at that entry. She did not like to take anything. For her to seek out the Doc and essentially ask for help would be something she would do to protect others from herself. The only thing that nagged at him was the math: a three week supply from Doc Cottle would have run out by now, unless she was going more than one day at a time without sleep. Considering the rumours of a black-market being in operation within the fleet, Kara would be just the person who could get in, get what she needed and get out without anyone putting Lieutenant Thrace and Kara together. Drawing his eyebrows together, he tried to think like Kara. That did not work. Switching gears, he tried to think like Starbuck. Starbuck could easily justify spreading one nights sleep over two days if it meant that she would keep her secrets and protect those she viewed as her responsibility – which amounted to everyone who flew into battle with her and those she trained – he included.

_**Age:** twenty-seven: right patella restabilization, dehydration, contusions and abrasions associated with ejecting and crash landing at a low altitude. Minor surgery required to clean up damaged cartilage, Major Cottle was attending. **Prognosis**: after immobilization and pain-management protocols followed by physical therapy, patient is expected to make a full recovery and be returned to flight status. I advised that there was a distinct possibility for general weakness and discomfort in her knee if recommended adequate rest and exercise were not adhered to on a regular basis. Patient informed me that pain told her she was alive. _

_**Personal Note**: on pretext of scanning her injury, performed a full body M.R.I. Suspicions confirmed. Test showed many long healed wounds and injuries dating back to childhood. Patient's behaviour is consistent with one who is a survivor of child abuse. I would not be surprised if mental abuse was inflicted during formative years._

Reading Cottle's personal notes about Kara coincided a bit with what he already surmised. There was nothing he could do about her past. That part was up to her. What made him pause was the fact that Cottle made it a point to differentiate between mental and physical abuse. He would have to think about that one, preferably while in close proximity of the punching bag so that when the helplessness and guilt at not being able to protect her swelled to overflowing, there would be a place for those emotions to go.

Closing the log book and putting it back where it came from, Lee picked through the file folder that was still open on the desk. There were more entries, dating all the way back to her stint as an instructor. Facial contusions were probably from fist-fights. A couple of hair-line fractures along her ribs. Moderate concussion from an emergency ejection where the canopy of her bird did not completely break away – that one had him remembering the first time he had to bail from a craft.

The only thing that seemed odd was the fact that she was treated in a Picon military facility at the same time he knew she was teaching Basic Flight on Caprica. It was quite a stretch to travel between the two colonies to the extent that one did not do so on a twenty-four hour pass.

The last pages caught him by surprise. Frowning as he looked over the attached paperwork, the reason why it was included made sense but it was still an irregularity for a civilian medical file to be incorporated into an official military dossier.

_**Age nineteen:** ACL transplant to right knee, complete cartilage transfer as well as patella reconnection. Gross materials obtained from cadaver. Procedure done in Delphi; prognosis for recovery is seventy-three percent. Advised patient that if she continued to play Pyramid, and had another accident to extent of the one she was just operated for, then she could be impaired, to a certain level, for the rest of her life. _

Concentrating on the entry, he flipped the page and scanned the back side of the file entry.

_**Addendum**: Patient recovery modified to ninety-five percent. Am very surprised with the results of the physical therapy and must give credit to the patient's tenacity. It is very possible that patient might achieve recovering ninety-eight percent of her mobility and range of motion._

_**Personal Note**: She will never play Pyramid professionally, but there is very little she will not be able to do. Patient asked an interesting question today. She asked if my orthopaedic specialties extended to hands. I told her yes. That is when she asked for an evaluation of her hands and alluded to a series of injuries involving broken fingers. I asked how many, and she said that over time, every finger, including thumbs, had been broken at one point or another. She clarified that playing Pyramid was not a sport for those who wanted to avoid ending up at a Life Station or in a sling at the beginning, middle or end of a game. Performed the tests patient requested; told her that the fractures healed without any long term side affects. Disclosed that there was damage done to the ligaments and tendons that run the length of her fingers and that because of that damage that was why she had an unnatural range of motion in her fingers. Also, tests came back with conclusive evidence of patient being ambidextrous. I explained that the body is a wonderful, thinking machine and that it has a means of self-protection; her body taught her how to be just as right-hand oriented as she was left-hand oriented to keep pain at bay, maintain day-to-day functions and encourage self-preservation. With that kind of skill, being able to switch hands unconsciously, there was very little she would not be able to do and that her response time for anything that required manual dexterity would be maximized because she was not dependant on one hand carrying the burden of whatever it was she would be doing. However, I did explain the caveat: if she pushed herself too far without adequate rest and recovery time, her hands could turn on her and claw up as the ligaments and tendons retracted from over use. I like this woman. She is hell of a player – her game is as cerebral as it is physical. It is a shame to loose her from the college Pyramid circuit. From what the team coach shared, her scholarship was dependant on her playing capabilities. _

Lee turned over the last few lines of that doctor's notes in his mind. Sitting back and steepling his fingers, he looked at Starbuck's battle plans and formation deployments from a different point of view. In War College, tactics was a science where needs and objectives were balanced by assets and pre-established outcomes based on prior encounters with the enemy. In sports, tactics was a science where needs and objectives were balanced against assets and previous encounters with the opposing team, but there was a third element that gave depth and a complexity to strategizing for a game: the human factor. War College taught him to use soldiers, pilots and machinery as instruments to create a successful mission. Planning game strategy, it is the players who are the factor in whether victory is won or lost. Where their heads are at – both the opposing side and your own – sets the stage for confrontation. And one player can make a difference. He had seen it himself when going to a game: one player can make the winning shot, one player can set up another to make a shot and the same player can make a sacrifice, take themselves out of play, in order for the over all strategy to work. But also, the players are not locked into one approach; they can adapt with the ebb and flow of a game and make adjustments when necessary. Military exercises are not that flexible, he mused. Sure troops can be redeployed, but only to a certain degree. Ground troops cannot become an air-group if the need arises, where as a Pyramid game can switch up from a running game to an air-dominated game. Starbuck's plans would never have the finesse of what he could pull together in a war room with unlimited resources and proper planning time. But her ability to see into the heads of the enemy and use their own strengths and weaknesses against them while applying military assets full force while keeping the situation elastic made her his peer – without having graduated from War College.

Looking back at the times they spent in the air together, he was only more convinced that he was onto something. She flew – not with a recklessness that others perceived – but with a confidence worthy of the cockiness she belted around her hips that she wielded with the same precision she hefted her side arm. She was the best pilot in the fleet and could probably have been the best pilot in the fleet before the worlds ended for the same reasons. She thought while she flew – she was not locked into one plan of attack or defence. She adapted and changed her tactics as the need arose. She was not confined by power, pitch, roll and yaw. Those were what set her free. Those were the cornerstones of her emancipation. That was how she could fly with only one wing, a blown engine or locked landing gear. And that was why she was such a good flight instructor. And, that was why she was such a self-destructive person. She could lead a group into battle; galvanize pilots and those in authority just by her being in the air or on the other end of the comm system speaking into someone's helmet. But get her on the ground, out her plane, off the Pyramid court, away from being Starbuck or Lieutenant Thrace and Kara was beautiful disaster of her own making. No. Scratch that. A beautiful disaster made of what was done to her and fuelled by making decisions based on how she perceived herself rather than who she could be.

A sudden flash of insight had him sucking in a sharp breath: imagine what Kara would be like if she had Starbuck's confidence? That would be a glitteringly dangerous combination but in the best of ways.

Shaking his head free of that thought but with the promise to re-visit it later, he shuffled through the file, past the medical scans of her nineteen year-old knee and was stopped cold.

**Juvenile Records sealed at Patient's Request. Notification of inquiry will be sent to patient for consideration and final approval.**

Slouching back in Cottle's chair, he tucked his pen into his jacket pocket and looked at the materials spread out around him. While the documents shared a lot of what went wrong in Kara's life, the sheaf of paper in front of him barely touched the surface of what is good and interesting about her, what makes her an insubordinate officer when having to deal with someone who has not earned her respect, a brilliant pilot, a loaded weapon, or the myriad of other facets that make her the only person he would trust with his life.

The quietness of sickbay made the subtle alarm on his chronometer seem like a ship-wide klaxon sounding.

Sitting up, he gathered up Kara's file and slid it back into place and tucked his notes into the same pocket as his pen. Turning off the light and then putting back the reference book, Lee took one last look around to make sure every was set to rights.

Slipping out of the office and out of the medical wing with all the skills he came away with from a Silent Manoeuvres class, he headed towards the brig on D level.

Someone should be waking up right about now and wanting a morning run before coffee.

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	8. Chapter 8: Twilight

**Another Way**

**Chapter 8: Twilight**

Some days, it just did not pay to get out of bed, Cally mused as she fished for two rags from the laundry bin. One she spread on the floor and stepped on. Once balanced, she undid the zipper of her coveralls and let the sodden material slap wetly against itself as she sloughed off the bright orange safety gear. The other rag, the smaller of the two she wrapped around her hand, fingers to wrist. Once 'gloved', she opened her locker. The last thing she wanted to do was re-clean her hands after getting cleaned up. Why she ever let the Chief talk her into training some washed-out nugget into being a Raptor Repair Specialist, was beyond her. No, that was not true, she chided herself. He asked with that half-pleading-half-sheepish grin of his and she said, 'yes', before she could say no. Now, courtesy of 'Mr. I've Got This I Know What I Am Doing', she ended up on the receiving end of an out of control, pressurized coolant hose and wound up being sprayed with the thick, viscous fluid from head to heel. Banishing the trainee – who had the gall to laugh at her as her hands struggled to get a firm grip on the whip-like line – to the launch tubes with orders to give the tracks a thorough scrubbing and re-lubrication; she gave Tyrol an unabashed look of contempt and stomped off the deck. Like she wasn't dirty enough already at the end of a shift, now she had to contend with leaving smears of coolant trailing from the hanger deck to her quarters.

Still using the rag as a barrier between her grit, grime, grease and coolant covered hands and her personal belongings, she grabbed everything she would need for a much needed shower and headed towards the Enlisted Head.

Spinning the hatch door shut, she made her way to the farthest shower and turned the spray on low. Only rooks made the mistake of trying to use high pressure to chip away at the layers of crud that came with a full eight hours of working the deck. Turning the water up to full blast only spread the stuff to the walls of the shower stall while adding to the length of time needed to become slime free. Not to mention having to clean the tiles so that the next person would not walk into a grease pit.

Working methodically, she used the de-greaser, soap and shampoo in tandem. The one saving grace in taking the time to properly scrub the deck from her body was that no matter how dirty her nails got, by the time she was done washing and re-washing her hair – once was never enough – her cuticles were soft and unblemished. Spinning the soap between her palms made her smile. Her hands were small but strong. She could re-fit a gimble, piece together the central thrusters on a Viper or restart a heart.

Cutting the water, she wrung out her hair and enjoyed the girly feeling of the wet ends falling past her shoulders. Her smile faded and she became pensive as she wrapped herself up in her towel and left the Head. To her, Vipers were synonymous with Starbuck and Starbuck was synonymous with Apollo. Apollo was synonymous with The Old Man. The Old Man _was_ Galactica and Galactica was her home, which meant that she had a family – granted some members of the crew were more 'distant relations' rat her than 'first cousins' or siblings – but family was family.

Fluffing her wet hair to help it dry as she crossed the short distance back to her quarters, she felt her thoughts waft over the people who fell into the different tiers of 'family'. The Old Man was like a sage, wise, wonderfully gruff great uncle – one to be respected and emulated to a certain degree. He had a lot to teach and share having led a colourful life and she would be remiss not to listen to what he had to say and learn by the example he set. Chief Tyrol was… well, he wasn't family in the pervy sense of her wanting to commit incest with the man, but day she let him know that she wanted him to help her make a family had yet to arrive – if it ever did considering the state of war they all lived under. Jammer was like a nephew – someone she had to keep an eye on and help along while standing far enough back to let him make his own mistakes and live his own life without a lot of interference. Apollo was like an older first cousin to her. Ever since the events on the Astral Queen, she knew he would not let anything happen to her if he could help it and she made sure, to the best of her abilities, that he always came home. She appreciated him for who he was, what he could do and felt familial pride in having such a good guy on her side, but she was not attracted to him beyond acknowledging that he is one hell of a looker. Starbuck was like… her place in Cally's life was tough for even Cally to figure out. Pulling on the hatch door that opened to her quarters, she settled on Starbuck being like a first cousin, but from the other side of the family; a peer to Apollo, shouldering the same responsibilities, but having grown up in a completely different atmosphere, away from everyone else. She brought to the family table her own perceptions and ways of doing things that somehow blended with the way things were done while still being separate and unique.

Sweeping the bunk room, she was relieved to see that no one had backtracked for some rack time, that the room was just as empty as when she left. Dropping her towels into the hamper and rolling her saturated coveralls in the make-shift drop-cloth, she padded barefoot across the room. Starbuck – Lt. Thrace – was the fiercest warrior she knew, including Apollo. True Apollo was a force to be reckoned with, but he needed a reason to be motivated into decisive action that was beyond or outside his assigned duties. Starbuck was continually in motion and only needed a direction to divert her energies, reasons being only known to her. She was also the first to take responsibility for her actions. Clocking Tigh, jumping away in the Raider, putting herself between anyone who had something to say about Helo or Apollo; she was the only one allowed to get in their face about anything. Anyone else who tried to malign either one of those men brought the wrath of Starbuck down on their heads. Not to mention putting herself between the Cylon fleet and Galactica every time she launched and making sure her pilots were taken care of, the birds were seen too and that Apollo fleshed out the maintenance roster with enough pilots so that the deck crew could get necessary down time entitled to anyone who worked as hard as they did.

_She does not realize what she means to this crew_. That was what it came down too. People wanted to do things for the pilot, woman, crew-mate and fellow soldier and she just did not get it; her prickles and thorns inconsequential to what she gave out on a regular basis. And that was not referring to the black eyes, face implants and cracked ribs handed out on the boxing mats. It was the way Cally heard the edict to the medic to take care of, 'her pilot', when Kat was wheeled away on a gurney all strung out from stim-abuse. It was the way she helped herself to parts and creepers to start working on damaged Vipers and Raptors without having to be told where to start or backtrack over what she did to make sure that she did everything right. It was the way she led at the Triad tables and let others tell tales of glory in the Mess Halls. It was the way she looked out for the Chief by pulling Apollo aside when the two men, each possessing 'Type A' personalities, clashed. Some people only saw the loud mouthed, insubordinate pilot who had a death wish.

Stepping up to her locker, a piece of folded paper was wedged into the jamb. A smile stole across her face as she gently pulled it free. It was the third surprise she had found affixed to her locker in the past three weeks. Opening it up, tears crowded her still damp lashes.

It was a pencil sketch of her, leaning against one of the walls of the hanger bay, looking wistful and introspective. In the background was a pair of Vipers and the Chief, in-profile, gesturing to someone out of frame. Soaking up the hand-drawn image, she could actually remember that particular day. She had taken five minutes to stop and look around her, for some reason she needed a moment to pull herself together before moving on to the next task. She did not even know that Starbuck was on the deck, that was how engrossed she was in her own thoughts, but the pilot must have been close by to draw this picture and infuse so much emotion into the sketch. Squinting at the perspective the picture originated from, Cally smiled. Starbuck must have seen her from the overhead companionway.

"If they only knew," Cally said out loud to an empty room, referring to her earlier thought about some of the 'drawbacks' to Starbuck's personality as she carefully stowed the precious drawing with the other two she had received. She had a sneaking suspicion that she was going to receive as many pictures as the number of time she had put the paddles to Starbuck's heart during those first eight days when they did not know if the Lieutenant was going to live or die.

The most common misconception was that Starbuck was solely motivated by selfish desires, with only her own needs being primary goals. On the surface, that was true – if someone did not look at the reasons for the drinking, smoking, anger and apparent apathy she projected. It took a shallow person not to see what was just underneath the surface. The reason why she presented a 'living for the moment' persona came from knowing that Viper launches did not come equipped with a guaranteed round-trip ticket attached to the throttle. Her anger was directed at those who she expected to meet the high bar she set for herself. Her apathy came from feeling too much and not being able to give vent to the vast quantities of emotions bottled up inside her unless there was a squadron of Raiders coming at her and her squadron in attack formation. Her ferociousness came from having to make sure those who flew, lived, bunked with her had a home to come back to knowing she had done absolutely everything in her power, prowess and capabilities to ensure that as many people as possible made it to Earth. And, in Cally's Book, Cally thought, that over-wrote whatever else she did. Even if she thought Starbuck's personal investment in making sure everyone else was onboard might one day be the reason why one day Cally might be asked to affix a different name plate to Starbuck's Viper.

Swiping away tears that over-flowed from her eyes, a sense of regret tinged the moisture she rolled between her fingertips. If the day ever came when she had to attend a memorial service for Starbuck or Lt. Thrace she would stand tall and proud at her 'cousin's' funeral. No, the tears sprang from the realization that while she knew Starbuck fairly well, and Lt. Thrace almost as equally, she did not know enough about Kara to offer a proper eulogy pertaining the person that gave birth to two amazing individuals.

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"Don't you have a toaster to frak, Helo?" Starbuck snarled at the larger man who had the audacity to put his frakking oversized-ass feet on her frakking creeper and pull her out from underneath the Viper she was frakking repairing.

"Nah – did that already today. Gave the Marines quite a show, wouldn't want to do that again though. Hate it when they drool." Helo snipped back, unfazed at her attack.

"Right – thanks for the update. My life is now complete." Resettling her back against the creeper, she made to slide back underneath the damaged bird, but Helo's boot was still on the board and it was the equivalent of an emergency brake being applied at full force. She was not going anywhere until he let go or until she made him let go. Upping the ice in her voice she asked, "Do you mind?"

"You know what, Starbuck? I do, actually." Helo looked down at her, only because he was standing as she was lying prone. "You see, I have this problem-"

"Go see Doc Cottle and don't be embarrassed. It could have happened to anyone, Helo – who knows how many 'sockets' she has been 'plugged into'."

Helo felt his face flush as Starbuck attacked Sharon. But he also knew why. Starbuck could insult him all day and he would fire back retort after retort in self defence and have fun doing it because, underneath it all, they were friends. For Starbuck to lash out at Sharon meant that she knew what he was going to say and was going to do her damnedest to make sure he stomped off before he said what was on his mind. He was not about to let that happen, but the Gods as his witnesses, she was testing his control.

"Nice try – but not quite enough to make me go away or instigate a fist-fight, Starbuck." Absently stoking his jaw at the precise place her famous right hook would land if she decided to take a swing at him, he took stock of the woman stretched out on the repair board.

Shadows hovered underneath her eyes and she was wearing the same coveralls he saw her in before he left for CAP at the start of First Shift, fifteen hours ago. Combined with the way he saw her arms tremble with muscle fatigue as she struggled to hold a panel ajar while trying to re-thread a fibre-optic cord at the same time only strengthened his resolve to do what had to be done.

"Nah, I'm here to talk about you resubmitting a re-worked flight schedule to Tigh while Apollo is off-ship supervising a re-fuelling op." Helo did not remove his foot as he let his words float up to the ceiling of the hanger bay. "As well as to discuss the number of times your name appears on Tyrol's duty roster."

"I have no idea what you are talking about." Starbuck's terse denial had all the warmth of Picon ice storm and rang with the jaded truth only a used-transport seller emulated. "All I'm doing is pitching in. Unlike some people – I'm qualified to work on Raptors as well as Vipers. I don't know if you have _noticed_ that we are a little short handed at the moment – you know – since the worlds ended and everything."

She's good; I'll give her that, Helo sniffed as he dismissed her obvious dig at the time he spent on Caprica.

"I'm talking about you, being awake for more than twenty-four hours at a stretch. I am talking about you, re-working the flight schedule so that Apollo and I have fewer rotations. Or don't you think I would have _noticed_." He threw her word back at her and listened to his pointed remark bounce off her Starbuck-re-enforced armour.

"So? Why should you care? Gives you more time to be with your favourite appliance, Apollo a chance to do whatever CAG-like things he needs to do and it gives me more time in the air." Pushing herself off the creeper and using her leg muscles to stand, she climbed to her feet and stopped just short of his personal space. "Perhaps I need to refresh your memory but you all filled in for me for the six weeks it took for Cottle to re-instate my flight status. I am simply returning the favour."

Helo felt his arm get twitchy and looking down at her right hand clenched in a ball, her fist connecting to his jaw was only a moment away. That meant he was getting close, which was the only reason why he pushed aside his frustration and evened out the tone of his voice.

"So what are you saying, Starbuck? You are trying to make up for lost time? You think that lounging about on the shores of the River Styx qualifies as a seaside vacation? Because, let me refresh your memory, you have filled in, taken over and rounded out so many CAP rotations, mission ops and shuttle runs that you have amassed enough vacation time to take a Twelve Colony Tour, ten times over." Helo countered her argument with one of his own, one of the few he had been rehearsing in his head ever since he headed towards the hanger bay.

"Well, you know how it is. I hate taking vacations so close together – makes me feel like I am slacking. Plus, where am I going to store my next souvenir?" She looked at him as if that was the root of her problem, where to keep knick-knacks she acquired that came in forms of Cylon Raiders, Heavy Raiders and given-up-for-dead Raptor E.C.O.'s.

"When was the last time you went on vacation, Starbuck?" He scoffed at her excuses.

"Caprica is lovely, especially seen through the haze of post-nuclear, annihilation-grade radiation. Before that – there was this lovely little barren rock of a moon I had the pleasure of touring and then there was my lovely little trip though the back-country of Kobol – lovely scenery there." Her tone was caustic, but Helo could feel the cracks forming in her voice and in her eyes. He had her and managed to keep all his teeth.

"You call those vacations?" He felt a smile spread across his face as he called her bluff only to be rewarded with a slightly guarded one that did not reach her eyes.

"Yeah, well – that's the beauty of semantics my friend." Starbuck shrugged her shoulders in temporary defeat.

Feeling the change that came over his friend, Helo waved a hand at the Viper behind her. He knew he had won for the moment, but if he was going to get any kind of answers out of her he would have to keep her distracted in order to hear what she wanted to say and not let her say what she thought he wanted to hear.

"Need a hand with that?"

He watched as her head followed the direction in which his fingers pointed.

"Yeah – that would be great. Re-threading that cable is more of a two person job, but I…" Her voice trailed off as she waved her hand at the downed space craft.

"Didn't want to pull anyone away from what they were already doing." Helo finished her sentence accurately because she nodded knowingly. Pressing on the creeper with his boot, a simple twist of his ankle had the rolling board turned sideways so that they both could fit on it and work side by side, "Ladies first."

Smirking at his chivalry, he saw her swallow whatever smart-ass comment came to her mind and waited while she settled her lower back against the board. For a split second, he was re-living setting her down on the cold deck seconds before performing CPR on her to restart her heart. Blinking himself back to the present, he saw that she was looking up at him with a watery gaze. "Don't Karl. Don't go there, okay?"

Karl – not Helo. Nodding, giving her what she needed, he hunkered down and took up space to her left.

"Tell me what to do." He might not know what he was looking at, but he knew she did and she would tell him what he needed to know – on more than one level.

"Just hold this panel," she pulled a trapdoor flush against the undercarriage of the Viper. "Keep it out of the way for me, I can get the rest."

"I can do that," he reassured her, letting his eyes twinkle in a way he knew always made her smile.

A rumble of light chuckling vibrated the board they were lying on. "Brains and beauty all in one convenient package – what more could a girl want?"

Working as a team, Helo had to give her the same compliment – without the sarcastic connotation. She was brains and beauty wrapped up in one convenient package. One had to be blind to miss the kind of curves her body carried. More than one man had to leave the Physical Training Centre due to certain manly reactions to her working out her frustrations on the punching bag or pushing herself hard on the weight training equipment. The sad part was that on some level, she took it as a rejection of her femaleness to have perfectly competent sparring partners decline training with her because she thought she was not as desirable as other members of the crew, not realizing that these counterparts had the need to keep their arousals away from her legendary skill at emasculation and restricted to the showers or the dead of night when the illusion of privacy was at its peak. Or the fact that she was just better than they were and instead of seizing the opportunity that sparring with someone of superior skill provided, they ran with their precious egos cradled in their jocks.

Viper repair was not for the dull-witted or those who went to weekly Half-Assed Support Group meetings. One wrong miscalculation pertaining to any aspect of putting a bird back together equalled death and she made it a point to work on every plane every one of her friends flew.

He had seen the art that crowded the walls of her apartment in Delphi, the canvases stacked five deep along the baseboards and listened to her father's music. He had sat in her well-worn leather chair as his friend sat on her sofa and watched her convince herself that she had failed on some level even though she had gotten the Arrow and went one-on-one with a Cylon – won – and lived to tell about it. He heard about the tylium raid she planned that Apollo pulled off brilliantly. He was there when she punched Tigh because the XO stooped to picking on her call sign when he was loosing at cards while playing against her. Hearing her pretty much lay it out there that if anyone had a problem with him – that they now had a problem with her – made him almost wish he had feelings for her of a romantic nature. But he didn't. His heart belonged to Sharon, pure and simple as that. Besides, he would not know what to do with a woman like her and he knew it. Hell, he was barely keeping his head above water with just being her friend and brother. There was only one man he knew of that had a handle on what made Kara, Starbuck and Lt. Thrace one person and even that was going to be a long time coming – for both of them. One did not have to be an oracle to see that.

Passing her a pair of casing-strippers, he kept his eyes on what she was doing as he did his first 'flyby'.

"You know, you never did say what happened to you on Caprica."

"Nope," she agreed with him and weaved the slack in the cord around her fingers and did not say anything else.

"You were gone for three days, Kara."

"Wow, Karl – you're counting all by yourself now? I'm impressed." Starbuck quipped derisively. Speaking to herself more than him, she added, "You learn something new everyday." Both hands buried deep inside the Viper, she kept her face forward but asked, "Can you pass me the spanner? It's to your left."

Reaching for the tool, he set it on her stomach knowing she would grab it when she needed it. And then he let the silence stretch – and then stretch some more to the point where she had to say something.

"I was shot, Helo. You know that. You re-bandaged me, remember?"

She was still staring straight ahead but her hands had stopped moving. She was thinking about something and that something had her distracted to the point where she could not focus on what she was doing.

"I am talking about the way you looked when you came out of that place, when Centurion fire was making divots in the dirt where you tripped and fell. You had this look about you… I had never seen you look scared, Starbuck." Helo made sure his voice had as much honesty in it as possible.

Her elbows sank to the creeper but her head stayed turned to the bird.

"Helo – Karl – I… "

"What is it, Kara. I am your friend. I care about you."

Holding his breath, her own breathing ragged for several respirations, it was a long moment before she tilted her face towards him and actually looked at him since he initially offered to help her fix the Viper.

"I know, Karl. But you cannot help me. No one can help me but me." Her voice had an element of finality that triggered warning flags in his mind.

"What are you talking about, Kara? We are a team. You, me, Apollo, The Old Man – there is nothing we can't do."

Starbuck was a lot of things, but melodramatic was not among them. To hear her draw a line in the sand as to what could and could not be done for her, to save her, raised every big-brother instinct he possessed towards someone he saw as more of a sister than a friend.

"No Karl, you are not listening." The shadowed look in her eyes changed to wary hardness in the span of a heartbeat.

"I am not buying this. Since when has Starbuck ever backed down from anything?" Helo felt her pull away and become all Starbuck again as Kara was shuttered away.

"Helo – listen to me. It is not Starbuck they want, the pilot responsible for shooting down Raider after Raider. It is not Lt. Thrace, officer in the Colonial Fleet that they want to take prisoner and extract tactical and political information from. It is Kara Thrace – the woman – that they want. Don't you see? They want what I can," her voice cracked for a moment and it took several seconds for Kara to finish Starbuck's sentence. "They want what I can give them, if they ever get a hold of me."

Colonial training included preparing male and female personnel for the uglier side of interrogation when performed by an opposing faction. Call signs were created as a way for personnel to be active in combat without ranks being given away in the heat of battle. But for the Cylons to go after the personal aspect of someone – even the enemy – was something he never contemplated. But there was something more that she was going to say and if he stopped her now, he might not get another chance to help his friend.

"Remember what Sharon said – that I am special, that I have a destiny?" She looked at him, waiting for him to recall that moment as he pressed a fresh bandage against her lower abdomen. Letting acknowledgement flicker in his eyes was his way of encouraging her to finish what she was saying. "It was not the first time I had heard that, but it was the first time I knew what they meant."

What she had figured out he could only guess at because she had turned back to the exposed wiring of the Viper and was lifting her hands once more to finish the job she started.

"Kara – have you told Lee about any of this? The Old Man," Karl heard himself ask a question he already knew the answer to.

"I can't tell them, Karl." Her eyes were open but her using his given name had him thinking that she was not seeing the plane's undercarriage.

"Why the hell not – why keep this from them?"

"Because they can't know that the Cylons want Kara. And I cannot lie to either of them – for some reason – they see right through my bullshit." Swallowing hard, she added, "Lee has enough of his own demons, I cannot add mine to the mix. Nor can I be the reason why there is one less Adama in the world. Keeping one Thrace does not justify losing one Adama – believe me. I have walked that path and I know where it ends. "

Helo heard resignation round out her words. At least she had thought about it, telling them, even if she had dismissed it as an option. Her last sentence, he didn't know what to make of – hopefully she would explain her statement so he would know what she was talking about.

"Kara – Lee knows about your nightmares. That you do not sleep in your rack at night, or haven't been for weeks, that you make whatever rest you do get last more than a day, sometimes up to two days at a time. Why do you think that cell in D Deck is always left open, the cot is dressed and anyone who needs to be incarcerated is diverted to E Deck for detention?"

"Frak!" Her arm came up and for a second he thought she was going to belt him. Instead, she flung her arm up and covered her eyes. Long, lean muscles pulled smoothly underneath her skin from shoulder to wrist, but he had never seen her look more vulnerable. The adage of a girl trapped in a woman's body sprang to mind only to be instantly rebuffed. She was a woman dealing with a problem no woman should ever have to face.

"That is not why I am not sleeping – not totally anyway. Karl, if I tell you something, you have to swear not to repeat it." Her eyes glittered as he saw her collect her words. "I am afraid to sleep. I feel like something is coming. And that it is something bad."

Helo pursed his lips. He was at a crossroads. He could either assuage her fears or quantify them.

"Kara, anyone who has been through what you have been through will suffer from nightmares. If you didn't, you would not be human. We hurt, we cry, we dream, we re-live our lives in a surreal fashion through our subconscious and that is manifested through our dreams." He knew he was speaking the truth and he hoped she would accept even a part of what he was saying.

"Every pilot – Raptor, Battlestar, Frigate, Viper and alike – we all carry a certain amount of superstition around our necks or across our shoulders because of who we are and what we do. The important thing here Kara is that you are not as alone as you think you are. Very few people don't like you and those who you have succeeded in pissing off to no end," he paused and accepted the Starbuck smirk that lit up her face, "respect you."

Her smirk waned and was replaced by a clouded look in her eyes and a sombre expression. She had listened to what he had said, but she wasn't buying it.

About to say something, her voice was instantly drowned out.

"**ACTION STATIONS – ALL HANDS SET CONDITION ONE THROUGHOUT THE SHIP! REPEAT! ACTION STATIONS – ALL HANDS SET CONDITION ONE THROUGHOUT THE SHIP!"**

Jumping up, they both scrambled to the lockers that lined the wall underneath the companionway. Pulling out flight suits, they both set out to do their jobs.

Over the intercom, the call went out for all alert fighters to be launched.

Starbuck took control of the deck.

"Chief – let's get these birds in the air."

Sweeping the hanger with her eyes, she evaluated who was filing onto the deck and who should where.

"Duck, Hot Dog, Kat and Beehive – you are Blue Wing and Beehive you will be group leader. Monkey Boy, Spokes, Rat Trap and Ambush – you all are Red Wing and Rat Trap will be group leader. Helo and Racetrack, you two are Search and Rescue; Seelix and her E.C.O are already in the air as part of the CAP. If you need them, hail them. Got it?"

Starbuck paused as people nodded in acknowledgement of her orders.

"Coda, you're with me – we are going to pick up the two fighters from the CAP and be Black Wing. Keep your groups together, comm channels open. Things will change fast out there. Protect the fleet; bring home the CAG and get yourselves back onboard – that is the mission. And for frak's sake, stick to your wingman people!"

Hustling into the Raptor, Helo did not need the checklist to prepare for launch. Rattling off items from memory, his eyes fixated on Kara's bird as she paused long enough to allow the specialist to secure her collar before locking down her helmet and sliding her canopy into place.

For some reason, he did something he never did before, something he did to alleviate the prickling feeling that itched between his shoulder blades.

Lt. K. Thrace: Starbuck, the letters emblazoned on her Viper, her name plate on her Mark II, filled the view port of his Raptor and made him want to call out her name and stop her from launching.

Stamping down Kara's words of foreboding, he buckled in and prepared to launch.

The sling-shot 'whoosh' of being propelled into the fray drowned out his words he quietly murmured.

"Lords of Kobol, hear my prayer. Keep your eyes on your daughter Kara Thrace this day..."

Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx


	9. Chapter 9: Engagement

**Another Way**

**Chapter 9: Engagement**

An armed Battlestar is a beautiful thing to watch; its powerful engines cleaving a pathway through the heavens parsec after parsec.

An armed Battlestar with Vipers streaking away as they cleared the launch tubes gave him a glow of satisfaction and nostalgia. Images he had seen, research he had done on the First Cylon War were playing out in living, breathing, human colours.

She was there – he knew it. He could feel it. He could practically smell her. The blips on his DRAEDIS console dipping, swerving, taking positions numbered fourteen and she was one of those fourteen. All he had to do was pay attention and those who cared about her most would be the ones to betray her. They would tell him which one of those arch-angels had the highest Raider kill-count since Liberation Day, which one killed a Six with her bare hands, which one held the future of the Cylon race in her beautifully constructed hands and which one he would have at his side, his dark Persephone, for the rest of her life.

Looking across the console, he nodded to the Centurion manning the Cylon equivalent of an LSO position.

"Execute."

He could hear the metal soldier's silent acknowledgement: _By your command…_

BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG

"Status report Mr. Gaeta." Tigh kept his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he looked at the tactical officer.

"Sir – two BaseStars just jumped in system. One is taking up a position at the head of the Fleet, one at our six." Watching the DRAEDIS refresh, he clarified, "So far, no sign of Raiders."

Switching from Gaeta to Dee, Tigh did not bother with formalities. "Page the Commander." Peering back at the DRAEDIS, he muttered, "Something does not feel right." Clearing his throat, he locked eyes with Gaeta again, "Calculate jump co-ordinates and transmit them to the fleet as soon as possible."

Looking at the XO, Dee nodded in acknowledgement and pressed her headset more firmly against her ear as she sent out the summons.

"Galactica – Black Leader; I have a visual on one BaseStar bearing…" Starbuck's voice transmitted into CIC.

"Copy that Black Leader. Split your forces – a second BaseStar just jumped and is squaring up at the tail end of the Fleet." Tigh did not need to fill her in on the details, just the facts. Making a quick decision, he looked back at Dee. "I want you to open a direct channel between Starbuck and CIC. This is going to get worse before it gets better."

"Black Leader – Galactica; you have a direct channel to Galactica Actual on this frequency." Dee relayed. A tone on her console beeped. Pressing the button, she took the call.

"Copy that Galactica." Starbuck acknowledged.

Eyes round, Dee made contact with Tigh. "Hanger Ten reports that Commander Adama took a shuttle to Cloud Nine several hours ago to meet with Quorum members."

"Black Leader to Apollo," Starbuck paged.

"Apollo here; go ahead Black Leader." He did not have to ask what was going on, his tone of voice carried his question as he answered Starbuck's page.

"Two BaseStars are forming up in front of and at the back of the Fleet. You are to abort your refuelling operation and return to base."

"Acknowledge – ETA eight minutes." Apollo confirmed.

"All Wings – change in plans. Red Wing, pick up the CAP and take up defensive positions and protect the back of the Fleet. Blue Wing, I want you to separate. Beehive and Kat, you are to put yourselves between anything that even remotely looks like it could strike Cloud Nine. Hot Dog, head to the Rising Star and provide escort for the refuelling detail. Duck, I want you up front and centre with me."

On DRAEDIS, Vipers veered off and separated, taking on new headings.

"Galactica – Black Leader; we are going to need some help out here."

"Understood, Black Leader," Tigh agreed. "Mr. Gaeta, tell the LSO to launch another ten birds to back them up out there."

Walking around the console, he stood directly underneath the read out screen. Cocking his head to one side, he would bet his last bottle of ambrosia that they were up to something. Call it a pilot's superstition, but why hell weren't there…

"Raiders, Sir - closing in fast," Gaeta announced. Dread excitement underscored his words.

"How many do you see, Mr. Gaeta?"

"A full air wing," the tactical officer quantified.

Tigh reacted before he could check himself. "Say that again?"

Swallowing hard, Gaeta followed everyone else in looking up at the DRAEDIS display.

"A complete air wing – from each BaseStar, Sir," Gaeta repeated.

Rolling the hard six never was uglier than right now, in this very moment.

And, he was not the only one who recognized it.

"Galactica – Black Leader; we got it. Get everyone away who can get away. We'll hold them off."

"Black Leader – just buy us some time. We'll get you home." Commander Bill Adama's voice never sounded so good, even if it was being relayed from another ship. And with those gravely spoken words, Tigh had his orders.

"Aye, aye Sir," Starbuck's voice rang with determination. "Okay people – we are going shopping. Let's see how much time we can put in The Bucket's bank. All pilots, fire at will."

The board exploded into a flurry of activity as the sounds of an aerial battle took place. Whoops, yells, explosions, expletives, the heavy staccato of gunfire and the deeper boom of missiles hitting targets wrapped around the CIC.

An aide came up to Gaeta and passed him readout. Accepting the intel, Gaeta said, "Sir. All ordinances are hot and ready to fire."

Another ten Colonial signals appeared on radar.

Calling out to the newcomers, Tigh watched as Starbuck divvied up the new forces. Her game plan was unorthodox but sound. Commander Adama was protected, the Old Man's son was five minutes away from being on board, and she had given them time to warm up all batteries even as ships around her blinked as they were taken out of play.

"Open fire, Mr. Gaeta. Let's show these toasters what it means to have a Battlestar up your ass."

Xxx BSG Xxx

He could hear her, her voice carrying across space and feeding into his command centre courtesy of the battle frequencies provided by the Cylon spy network

One by one, red blips denoting unknown Colonial Vipers were either labelled with a call sign or changed to blue when they were disabled. Even when Galactica launched additional forces, all it did was make him smile. She was never one for doing things the easy way, so why should he expect her capture to be by-the-book?

That was the hardest part of his plan – to make sure Vipers were taken off the board but not destroyed. To have her vaporized inside the blossom of a hellflower was not an option and until he learned which plane was hers, orders stood: disable only.

Tapping out a sequence on the control board, the lay out of the enemy deployment came into focus. Leaning on his elbows, he drew a finger around one ship where two red Vipers had taken up a patrol. Immediately, the colour changed to blue. She was not there, but someone worth protecting was, and she would put her fastest pilot and sharpest shooter on that detail. Another red blip escorted two ships that, once scanned, showed to have no weapons onboard. Now that was interesting – who is she protecting there, he wondered. The escorting ship was changed from red to blue; she was not flying that Viper. Looking at where his sister-ship was now in formation at the backend of the Fleet, where eleven Vipers made a significant dent in the Cylon Raider force, eight were still red. Shooting a glance at the wave of Raiders launched from his ship concentrated at the head of the Fleet, the kill counts there were more significant. A wicked light flared in his eyes as he made the eight Colonial signals blue.

Re-locating to the head of the table, he perched where he could look head on at the Galactica, the ships immediately around the Battlestar and the nine red enemy fighters. He was close – very, very close to having it all. All he needed was just another few minutes.

BSG Xxx BSG

Seelix tapped her comm link and opened a channel.

"Racetrack – Seelix; do you copy?"

"I copy Seelix; SitRep?" Racetrack asked.

"I have one pilot and two are floating dead in the water – safe but secure."

Watching a Viper bob and weave a Raider away from a civilian vessel, Seelix focused on the way the Raider passed over the easy target and stayed on the fighter. "Have you noticed something odd about how the Cylons are attacking us?"

The sound of Galactica's forward battery firing rounds delayed Racetrack's answer.

Coming back on line, Racetrack replied. "Starbuck paged us a few minutes ago – something about all this did not sit well with her either. She has Apollo communicating with Helo analyzing their attack runs."

"Glad to know it just isn't me. Good hunting, Racetrack," Seelix signed out.

"You too; good hunting," Racetrack echoed.

Xxx BSG Xxx

"Galactica – Apollo; have those BaseStars engaged yet?" Lee asked, looking out from the pilot's chair onboard his Raptor.

"Negative Apollo – all we're getting are Raiders. There is zero activity from the BaseStars." Tigh answered. A pause separated his second sentence. "Get onboard the nearest ship; we are two minutes from jumping."

"Affirmative Galactica; Apollo out," Lee said as he cut the transmission. Setting the alarm on his chronometer, he switched to the battle frequency and listened to Starbuck galvanize the squadrons as she took out another Raider. She was on the front lines, leading the charge while at the same time running a defensive play. What he wouldn't give to roll back time just to see her Pyramid trained mind re-configure the stratagems and deployments that were the crux of War College theologies.

Glancing out his port window, the mining ship's tanker was trailing Hot Dog's Viper. He could land the Raptor anywhere, as well as the Viper, providing the ship had mag-lock capabilities. The tanker was another issue.

He might be the CAG, but this was Starbuck's plan and she had the board just as much as Galactica Actual.

"Black Leader – Apollo; do you copy?"

"Go ahead Apollo," the sound of debris bouncing off her canopy punctuated Starbuck's reply.

"Black Leader – the tanker – it's too big to fit in The Rising Star's hanger bay. I am going to divert it back to the mining ship."

"Acknowledged," Lee heard no second-guessing in her voice – she knew that if he said he was sending the tanker back to the mining ship that there was enough time for it to get there before the fleet began jumping.

Starbuck's guns fired for several seconds before she came back on the line. "Talk to me, Apollo"

"Give me thirty seconds," Lee quantified. Triggering the wireless again, he hailed, "Helo – Apollo; got anything yet?"

The distant sound of Helo's voice came over the comm system as the scream of Cylon engines buzzing by the other Raptor echoed in the background.

"Yeah – but I don't like it. Tell me what you think then I will tell you my idea." Helo's voice rose and fell with the conviction he felt over his analysis.

"Okay – send it over." Lee's curiosity was piqued. Something had the normally unflappable Helo anxious enough to need a second opinion. Swivelling in his seat, he looked at his E.C.O. "Switch with me."

Settling into the now vacant chair and making sure his E.C.O had the stick, Lee punched up the information Helo streamed into the databanks.

It was a fast-forward of the battle as it took place from the moment the BaseStars jumped in-system.

Watching the blips of Cylon and Colonial signals play out, Lee tapped his helmet where his chin was and started thinking. Then he started thinking out loud.

Xxx BSG Xxx

Seven Colonial signals were still red on Number Two's tactical board.

Closing his eyes and sending a prayer to God, he waved his left hand over what represented the forefront of the combat zone.

Surrendering to God's will, he let Him still his arm. Three red blips were now shadowed by his palm.

_There you are_, he smiled as the other four Viper icons were changed to blue.

Making contact with his LSO one more time, he said, "Execute Phase Two."

Out of the launch bays, another forty fighters flowed from the BaseStar.

With them, one Heavy Raider slipped into the fray.

It was time.

BSG Xxx BSG

An alarm to the left of Dee's station sounded.

"Radiological alarm, Sir," she could not keep a breathless edge out of her announcement, "DRAEDIS is also picking up additional Raiders – the count is forty."

"How many nuclear signatures do you read?" Tigh asked.

It was a fight to get the next words out of her mouth.

"Forty, Sir – all of them are carrying nukes."

Swallowing the string of expletives that competed for voice-time, Tigh speared Gaeta with a flick of his eyes demanding an answer to his silent question.

"We are still more than a minute from computations being complete, Sir."

"Black Leader – Galactica; did you hear that?" Inhaling deeply, Tigh looked up at the DRAEDIS display and picked out where Starbuck was dipping and weaving.

"Yeah, I frakking heard that. Frak me." The sound of her punching the inside of her canopy was not missed by anyone. "How much more time do you need?"

Tigh blew out pent up breath. "Another sixty seconds before the final calculations are completed."

"Which means you really need at least another two minutes before everyone is away, right?" Her question was rhetorical because her next word mirrored what everyone was thinking.

"FRAK!"

Xxx BSG Xxx

Scanning the remaining Colonial forces on her inner console, she was the only pilot without a wingman. Which was good and bad thing. On one hand, she was free to pursue, annihilate, intercept at will while being totally accessible to any pilot who needed help without having to be responsible for another person's life. On the other, there was no one to back her up when she got in trouble – like she was right now.

"Coda – I want you to break off your attack run – change of plans."

Having one Raider on your six was fun, like having a puppy follow you; you could scare it off or distract the animal. Three on your six was like having a pack of rabid dogs jockeying for a kill-bite and now that there were more appliances crashing her party, she had to 'make room' for more 'guests'.

Starbuck explained what they were going to do as she saw it play out in her head.

"Copy that Starbuck, but what about –"

Referring to the Raider that had just locked onto him, a missile coming from the underbelly of Starbuck's Viper made his question obsolete. He was now free to participate in Starbuck's hair-brained idea.

BSG Xxx BSG

Waiting for Lee's analysis, Helo ran his projections on more time. Drumming his fingers against the keypads but not hard enough to activate them, he took his ideas one step further and his big-brother gene superseded his Colonial training.

Hollering to Racetrack, he felt the pull of the Raptor's burners being kicked into high gear as they shot across the battlefield.

Xxx BSG Xxx

Hitting the enter button, sliding out of the E.C.O.'s station and taking back the pilot's seat, Lee looked up. The E.C.O had manoeuvred the Raptor towards the front lines. A fresh wave of incoming Raiders was still more than a minute out, and a flash of ignited tylium made spots dance in front of his eyes for a moment. Clearing his vision, a glimpse of a name plate – Kara's nameplate – blinked in and out of focus as she dipped, banked and circled a freighter with no less than three Raiders on her burners. Behind the Raiders, another Viper was coming up on the trio of enemy crafts, but to Lee's trained eyes, by the time the pilot corrected his attack vector, Kara would be nothing more than cosmic dust and there would be nothing he could do about it. All he could do was watch and pray that she had enough time to eject.

The strength, beauty and power she transferred to her craft she carried under her control fell to the way side as he watched from his vantage point, in an unarmed bird, helpless to stop her death.

Relying on his Colonial training to keep him from crying out to her, instead, he started rehearsing how he was going to break it to his father that the Commander had to plan a memorial service for his daughter.

BSG Xxx BSG

Gaeta, Dee, Tigh and everyone else in CIC had their eyes glued to the DRAEDIS display. The fresh wave of nuclear-capable Raiders was still thirty-five seconds out and their best defence was soon to be a spray of charred metal.

Viper One-One-Niner was coming up and over a civilian freighter with three Raiders on its tail. The only Viper in any proximity was off course, coming in from the wrong direction to do any good.

A deep throated growl vibrated across CIC as the pilot wrenched her bird into a complete one-eighty-degree turn, flipping end-over-end at an impossible speed so that now, she was charging her attacker, making them break off and tumble right into the flight path of the dismissed Viper. In less then four seconds from her flip, three more Cylon signals disappeared off the board.

A round of relief swept the CIC and a few specialists clapped.

Glancing at the jump-clock, Tigh looked at Dee, "Tell the CAP to make emergency landings on Cloud Nine."

A hint of appreciation pulled at the corner of his eye as he waited for someone to get the last word.

Panting slightly, Starbuck's voice sounded over the comms, "Okay people – what's next?"

BSG Xxx BSG

Sending out a prayer of thankfulness for their sacrifice as three more Raiders were blown apart by Colonial fire, Number Two tagged Viper One-One-Niner.

Now, instead of three numbers representing the Viper, the identity of the pilot appeared next to the icon: Kara.

Xxx BSG Xxx

"Apollo – Helo; do you copy?"

Lee's hand moved automatically to open the inter-Raptor channel.

"Go ahead, Helo." Lee answered. "Did you get what I sent you?" Trying to figure out what the E.C.O was talking about, his heart was still hammering over watching Kara pull her squadron out of the fire and reform the front line. There were so few fighters left and they were still seconds away from jump co-ordinates. He and Hot Dog were seconds from landing onboard The Intrepid.

"Apollo – it's a trick!" Helo's voice erupted in his headset.


	10. Chapter 10: There and Back Again

**Author's Note:**

I really do not do these - I think a story should stand on it's own and, if an author believes that their work needs some sort of pre-empting, then they have not done their job properly as a storyteller.

With that being said, this chapter is a long one - lots of things will happen as well as a WICKED twist at the end. I really have fretted over certain parts of this chapter but I believe there is little I can do to make it better. That is, unless I missed some typos!

Anyway... ANY and ALL feedback you offer would be so greatly appreciated. And, if you have read any part of this story more than once, would you let me know why? I would love to know what I am doing 'write'!

Thanks! Maevenly

**Another Way**

**Chapter 10: There and Back Again**

Three long, efficient strides had Gaeta across CIC and hunched over the FTL drive navigational computer. Craning his neck at the DRAEDIS console and then looking back at the rate the computations were taking, he did the remaining math in his head.

"Colonel, thirty-nine seconds until jumping can commence."

"How long do we have before those nukes are in range?" Tigh's tone was clipped. He didn't need some kid to tell him this was going to be close shave with a dull razor.

"Forty-eight seconds before those Raiders can fire, Sir." The strain in Gaeta's voice was something everyone recognized because it mirrored the anxiety level held by every officer and Specialist in the CIC.

Tipping the mouthpiece of the headset he wore closer to his chin, Tigh looked at Dee. "Open a channel to the entire fleet."

Dee confirmed his order had been carried out with a curt nod.

"Attention Colonial Fleet. Jump co-ordinates will be relayed in thirty-five seconds along with a confirmation code signal. You are to jump as soon as you receive that code signal. Galactica out," Tigh signed off and raked the headset free. Locking eyes with Dee again, he barked, "Get everyone home. Combat landings, RFN."

"Galactica – Black Leader; copy that." Starbuck's voice was steeped in adrenaline. This was her element: outnumbered, outgunned but definitely not out of the game. Watching her streak forward, everyone in CIC heard her call out, "All birds back to the nest. Repeat. All birds back to the nest. SAR and Apollo – beat your asses back to any barn that has a big enough door. And keep your noses out of Galactica's suppression barrage."

Gaeta heard what she was saying but kept his eyes dancing between the DRAEDIS console and the FTL computer. The count down had begun.

BSG Xxx BSG

Being a luxury liner, Cloud Nine didn't have the most battle friendly technology on board. But the conference room where just a half an hour ago he was hearing out concerns from Quorum delegates was now filled with the sounds of battle chatter and the terse language of commands being issued. There was nothing he could do – interceding any more than he already had would only make matters more confusing and confusion led to un-necessary deaths. Sitting alone in the darkened room, steepling his fingers, Commander Adama knew he had the best people doing what they did best. His prayer was that this was the worse the Cylons had planned.

Xxx BSG Xxx

"What do you mean it's a trick?" Lee demanded as he high-tailed it towards The Intrepid. The ship was close enough so that he could make an emergency landing given the time constraints but also near enough the front lines so that he could see the final seconds of the battle on his DRAEDIS display and visually make sure Starbuck got on board the Galactica.

"Look at it! Disable only, no incinerations and now all their forces are pulled up to the front of the fleet." Helo argued his point as Racetrack made for the Geminon Traveller. It too was positioned toward the frontlines but on the opposite side of the fleet as Apollo. "They're after something."

Lee's eyes flicked forward. The sight of vipers scrambling back towards Galactica normally was a good sign. That is, until Helo's assessment merged with his own theories.

"FRAK! Black Leader – Apollo; get your people away from Galactica!"

Xxx BSG Xxx

Staring at the FTL navigational computer did not make the countdown go any more quickly. It still took a full second for the timer to advance to the next digit.

"Twenty-one."

Xxx BSG Xxx

Trust in her CAG, friend and something more than she was willing to admit to at the moment had Starbuck shouting into her comm system.

"ALL CRAFT – ABORT. REPEAT! DO NOT LAND ON THE GALACTICA!"

Forcing her will out and beyond her cockpit, the remaining space worthy Colonial signals turned on their projected flight path and started streaking towards her.

Lifting her gaze, she visually locked her eyes on the fresh wave of Raiders still too far out to engage. Already, she could feel her mind spinning, trying to formulate a plan as the signatures came in closer.

Closer… and still no bright ideas came to mind.

_Think, Thrace!_

BSG Xxx BSG

"Nineteen."

Xxx BSG Xxx

"Eighteen"

Closer… but a whisper of an action plan was beginning to speak in her ear. _Just run the clock, Thrace; figure it out another day._

BSG Xxx BSG

_Oh, Heavenly Father, thank You for this day. Thank You for blessing your Servant with the knowledge, faith and skills necessary to see Your children carry out Your will._

Number Two cast his prayer at the same time he looked at his LSO.

Never had Lucifer looked more beautiful than Number Two did when he gave his command.

"Now!"

BSG Xxx BSG

GONE!

"Galactica – Black Leader," Starbuck growled into her comm. "They're frakking gone!"

"We see it Black Leader. Fifteen more seconds and the fleet will begin jumping." Gaeta's voice echoed in her helmet as if forty nuclear bearing Cylon Raiders vanished from radar on an every day basis.

Xxx BSG Xxx

"Seventeen."

BSG Xxx BSG

"SON OF A BITCH!" Helo's voice exploded over the comm channels. Now, he had seen everything.

Xxx Bsg XXX

"MOTHER FRAKKERS!" Seelix's normally calm contra-alto voice raised two octaves as disbelief and rage steeled her words.

Bsg Xxx Bsg

Lee's calm shattered into forty pieces. The helplessness he felt when he thought Kara was going to be blown out of the sky became a fraction of what he felt as he faced his new reality.

'NO!"

Xxx Bsg Xxx

Dee's switchboard lit up like a meteor shower brightened a night sky during a lunar eclipse. Every ship in the Fleet was clambering for an answer and begging Galactica for their help. Her hands flew across the console as ship after ship was put on hold as she waited for Colonel Tigh to make a command decision.

Gaeta's mouth opened and closed without a sound. All he could do was split his attention between the FTL computers continuing to count down to a now useless end and the horrific image on the DRAEDIS display.

Colonel Tigh never expected the end game to look like this, or happen on his watch.

Xxx Bsg Xxx

Charging forward from her Presidential offices, Laura Roslin pushed her way through the ever present throng of reporters, past the security detail that guarded the hatch that led to the inner working of the political process and scattered the sentries that stood watch outside the bridge of Colonial One with one commanding flick of peridot green. Shouldering open the door, the pilot didn't even swivel his head to see who had barged into the cockpit. He knew very few could get to him without being stopped or gunned down and of those individuals most of them were facing the same scenario the hovered one click off his starboard bow.

"Why have we stopped, Captain?"

An icy hand resting on his shoulders even as his grip on the throttle of the space craft trembled carried the answer to the question she really wanted to ask as realization set in and her fingernails curled into the muscles along his collar bone.

Looking out to the left and then sweeping her eyes over every ship she could see through the view port, humanity's last survivors were now lost. There was no coming back from this. No strategy to play; surrender was not even a tool she could use because the advantage was one-thousand-percent Cylon.

Every Colonial ship had come to a stand still.

Ship captains had no choice but to cut their engines. If they didn't, then they would have rammed one of the forty Cylon Raiders that short-jumped directly into their flight paths, guaranteeing the activation of the nuclear warhead each Raider had primed, readied and aimed at point-blank range. To do anything but come to a full stop would have essentially ended the lives of every man, woman and child each ship carried.

The Fleet was lost.

Unless the Lords of Kobol interceded, the Fleet was doomed and time had come for Humanity's extinction by the very hands they had created. Man made the Cylons, and now the Cylon's were going to conclude their act of genocide against their makers.

Bsg Xxx Bsg

Starbuck kept her head in the game even as anger rolled off of her in waves and filled her cockpit. For the first time in a long time, the feeling of being boxed into a corner settled in the pit of her stomach.

Lt. Kara Thrace was going shove Starbuck Retribution so far up their collective frakking metal asses that the each and every one of those frakkers will be spitting shrapnel out of their collective frakking metal gullets even as they download into their new frakking bodies.

"Black Leader to all Colonial Vessels; on me." Her calm voice was lethally level. The Cylons were going to pay for their treachery.

There was nothing she could do about the nuclear armed Raiders that held lock-and-tone on every ship in the Fleet. There was something she could do about that Heavy Raider and the BaseStar that hadn't moved since this nightmare began.

"Apollo, Racetrack – fall back and take formation just above and below my wings. Everyone else, take positions opposite them; I want to see a text-book Fisherman's Net. They may have the Fleet but by the Gods, we'll blow their command ships to kingdom-come by the time we're done. So say we all."

Sliding into position, seven Viper pilots, three Raptor pilots and three E.C.O.'s repeated her vow.

"So say we all!"

Bsg Xxx Bsg

Viper One-One-Niner – Kara – had squared herself off against the Heavy Raider he had dispatched with the second wave of assault ships. Spread out around her, in a classic Fisherman's Net deployment, were the remaining flight-capable Colonial vessels. Behind this line he held every remaining member of the human race hostage.

Tangible fear was wrapped around every civilian vessel in the Fleet. To him, it was the equivalent of God resting His hand on his shoulders and telling His servant that this why faith is so important, why hardship, discipline and sacrifice demanded of him in order to further the Cylon cause. He knew his plan was good one. After all, God had shown him the way to bring the prodigal daughter home where she belongs. But looking at his tactical display and feeling the purrs of success feeding into bio-mechanical aspect of the BaseStar from the Raiders that took positions in front of every single ship that represented the last of mankind, the might of God's will and the fact that He chose him to carry out His edicts was truly humbling.

Pressing a button on his console, he hailed Viper One-One-Nine; to hear her voice speaking directly to him for the first time in more than two years and one holocaust later was something he had prayed God would gift him with.

Xxx Bsg Xxx

"Black Leader to group; this is it people. This is what we have trained for, this is the reason why we say our prayers, and this is the reason why we draw breath. No one moves until they do. I do not want to see a single shot fired until that BaseStar and Heavy Raider have launched their reserve forces. You are going to need every bullet and every missile you have to do as much damage as possible. We are not going to go down without taking them with us." The fact that Starbuck's voice was emotion free proved where her head was at – one hundred percent committed to taking out as many Cylons as possible before she was done. If she could do that, then they could do that.

They also expected an addendum to her rallying speech and when Lee heard Kara's request for him to switch to gamma frequency; he also cut the feed to his E.C.O. This was between two of them.

"Lee?" Kara – not Starbuck was on the other end of the line.

"I'm here, Kara." Lee – not Captain Adama or Apollo answered her. "No chance of some retina-detaching, beyond insane plan cooking in that brain of yours?"

"Funny you should ask that – I was going to ask you the same thing." Kara replied. "Got any War College, super-secret manoeuvres hidden up your sleeve?" They both knew that Lee's Raptor was stripped of any and all ordinance as a precautionary measure when the ship was detailed for the refuelling run to the Rising Star.

A muted beeping noise spread between their two birds.

"What was that?" Kara asked, the forced smile in her voice wavering.

"My chronometer; we should be jumping by now." Keeping his words even was proving to be more difficult than he thought.

They both knew that this was how it could end, but for some reason a sense of disbelief and unpreparedness had them both rattled.

"I don't know how to say this to you." The honest tremble in her voice was different from the voice she used to convey the end game in front of them.

"Neither do I." It wasn't a cop out and this wasn't the time for flowery speeches. This was it and they both knew it.

"I love you, Kara."

"I love you too, Lee."

Hearing her swallow, her next words made his eyes sting. "If you see Zak before I do, let him know I won't be long, okay?"

"Done; the same goes for you, you know." Lee could not keep the thickness out of his voice.

"Not a chance, Adama. I'll wait for you, if that's the case. I think I like the idea of exploring the Elysian Fields with you for the next eternity or so. Zak can find us if that's going to be the case." Lee could hear the sincerity in Kara's promise.

"Forever never sounded so good, Kara," Lee offered his own promise. "Maybe we will even find our father while we're at it."

"All we have to do is find your mom, Lee – that's where we'll find your dad. He'll be holding her hand as he reaches out to you and pulls you close." A loud sniff echoed in his headset. "Damn, Lee – you're gonna make me cry if we keep this up."

Lee smiled through his heart ache. Dying didn't seem so bad knowing that Zak, his mom, his dad and Kara were going to be waiting on the otherside. Not to mention sending a BaseStar full of Cylons to the deepest bowels of Tartarus as a post-script on a set of service records only the stars would bear witness too.

"Can't wipe your eyes with a helmet on, can you Lieutenant?" Apollo deliberately broke the moment. They had a job to do and a family reunion to attend.

"No you can't Captain." Her voice might have cracked as she stumbled over the word Captain, but Starbuck's bravado carried across to the CIC as she switched back to the attack frequency and included the CIC on their plans. "Galactica Actual – Black Leader; do what you can and leave the BaseStar and Heavy Raider to us. I'm invoking blood rights. They're asses belong to us."

For a brief moment, Starbuck, Lieutenant Thrace and Kara contemplated the concept of supping in Valhalla and earning her Valkeryie wings. Neither Artemis nor Aphrodite would let that happen unless they set a place for their son and servant Lee Adama at Odin's Table as well.

Bsg Xxx Bsg

"Copy that Black Leader; good hunting. See you on the otherside." Tigh's clipped tone possessed the professionalism everyone knew he had within him, even in the face of certain annihilation. "The Old Man wanted me to tell you that he will see you soon and that not to worry about how you will find him – he says that all he has to do is look for one of you and the other will be close by."

"Copy that Actual; tell the Commander that we already have that sorted out."

Having been a fighter pilot, Tigh understood only too well why Apollo answered for both he and the Lieutenant. Adama's son knew Kara needed to be Starbuck as badly as Lee needed the veneer that came with being Apollo.

Looking at Captain Kelly, Tigh issued one of his last commands. "I want you to make sure this is recorded. They deserve that much."

"Aye, Sir." Kelly saluted Tigh and double checked the ship's log to make sure everything was working properly.

"Sir?" Dee's voice rang with fear.

"What is it, Officer Dualla? You were trained for this. Don't give into the fear now." Tigh offered what little reassurance he had to the communications Specialist. "We all are going to be dining with the Gods before this is done."

"I am not afraid of dying, Sir. It's the Heavy Raider – they've been hailing us on our own attack frequency."

Disbelief rang across the CIC.

"Why am I only hearing of this now, Petty Officer?" Tigh knew that yelling at the young woman wouldn't do any good, but he could not help himself – everyone has a breaking point – even if looking at the face of Zeus was on the evening's agenda courtesy of the nuclear warhead locked onto the stern of the Battlestar.

"The transmission identifies the Heavy Raider as The Caster and requests to speak with Persephone." Bewilderment underscored her explanation. "We don't have anyone by that call sign and I've been trying to get him to clarify his requests, but the same hail is sent repeatedly Sir, and he re-iterates that he will only speak to Persephone."

Xxx Bsg Xxx

_Oh frak, oh frak, oh frak – this can't be happening._ That was the mantra that echoed in Kara's head as Dee's voice was relayed into her headset.

"Black Leader – talk to me; Starbuck – what's wrong!" Helo cut into her thoughts.

"Starbuck – Apollo; SitRep, Lieutenant," Apollo snapped at her, hoping to bring her out of whatever had shattered her attention.

"Black Leader – Galactica Actual; what the hell is going on?" Even Tigh sounded worried as his primary warrior started to mutter erratically through the comm systems.

Frak! She'd done it again – spoken out loud what she was thinking in her head.

Recovering her emotions, she took a deep breath before speaking.

"It is a sick Cylon head game, that's all." Summoning all the courage that hadn't been sucked out her intake valve, she squared her shoulders, set herself more completely in her cockpit. "It's more of Leoben's mind-fraks. Patch him through. That frakker picked the wrong day to do this."

And she prayed that, for once, Lee bought her bullshit.

Bsg Xxx Bsg

"Apollo – Helo; switch to gamma frequency on my mark." Pausing for a moment, Helo said, "Now."

Lee re-tuned his wireless and motioned to his E.C.O to stay with CIC and Starbuck as he picked up Agathon's call.

Xxx Bsg Xxx

Connecting the BaseStar to Viper One-One-Niner, another light on Dee's switch board lit up. Looking at Colonel Tigh, she said, "Sir, Helo and Apollo are on gamma."

Gripping the edge of the console, he made a quick decision and tilted his chin as he made eye contact with the stockier man. "Captain Kelly – monitor gamma; Dee – stay on Starbuck."

"Aye, Sir."

Bsg Xxx Bsg

"I swear by the Gods, Helo – you had better have a good explanation for this!" Lee needed to keep his energies focused. If Kara cobbled together some sort of plan, he had to be ready for her signal. Gods knew that where she went, so did he.

"Apollo, listen to me for a second. Remember what I said about the Cylons being after something? What if I was wrong? What if they were after 'a someone' rather than 'a something'?" Regret seasoned his latest analysis.

"Explain," Lee ordered.

"What if this whole thing was a diversion? What if the Cylon's primary target wasn't the fleet or even Galactica but someone within the Fleet? What if they were after someone else, Apollo? What if their objective was someone like the President or you for that matter. If you were taken…"

"Helo – Starbuck and I have a pact that has been in place since the worlds ended." Lee did not need to spell out what he meant – his tone conveyed the nature of their agreement implicitly.

"Be that as it may, Sir" Helo took a deep breath before saying something he never thought he would. "But what if someone changed the rules and didn't send out the new playbooks to all the teams?"

"Helo, standby," the E.C.O putting his hand on his shoulder had Lee turning in his seat and facing the other man. "What is it?"

"You had better listen to this, Sir."

Bsg Xxx Bsg

The conference table on board Galactica was crowded. Every seat was taken.

In the centre sat Commander Adama and President Roslin. On either side of them were Lee and Billy. Radiating out was Colonel Tigh, Helo, Gaeta, Seelix, Captain Kelly, Racetrack, Rat Trap, Kat, Hot Dog, and Coda. On the fringes of the group were the other pilots and E.C.O's who saw what happened after the battle.

The room was dark. On the screen was the 'mission playback' of the battle and ensuing confrontation with the Heavy Raider and BaseStar as it was recorded by three different Raptors.

They were watching Ambush as she broke formation away from the lower left hand corner of the Fisherman's net and answered the Heavy Raider's hail after receiving instructions from CIC.

"_This is Viper One-One-Niner, call sign Persephone. Go ahead-"_

A missile launched from the Heavy Raider finished Ambush's sentence as her bird exploded into free-floating wreckage and her body was instantly incinerated. Lee winced at the bright light that momentarily overexposed the film and caused the screen to go white. But just because there wasn't a picture, did not mean that there wasn't sound.

"_Damn it! I told you not to do that! You are not out here, Colonel – we are. We have already claimed blood-rights on these two crafts." _

Starbuck's indignation resonated across the conference room.

"_It is the Cylon model Leoben. He knows me, knows the sound of my voice. Hell, he knows more about me than I do. He is going to know if we are frakking with him."_

As the picture came back into focus, Commander Adama's voice was heard coming out of the sound system.

"_Black Leader – I have spoken to the President and we both agree that for now, you have the board."_

Glancing over at the XO, Lee could see Saul reliving that moment. Whatever orders Tigh was going to give her had been over-ridden by Commander Adama's executive decision.

Focusing back on the action on the screen, he didn't need the film to remind him of what happened out there less than ninety minutes ago and three FTL jumps later. But they were not here to talk about the principles of time and space. That wasn't the reason why they were here. No. They were assembled to figure out _why_ they were all still here, _why_ the Cylons left once they had what they came for and not destroyed the last remnants of mankind once they got what they wanted, and _what_ the next step was going to be.

Starbuck's Viper separated and pulled out and ahead of the pack. Stopping just a click from where she started, she hailed the Heavy Raider.

"_This is Viper One-One-Niner acknowledging the vessel Castor." _

Her voice was strong. Lee could not detect any hint of the near panic he picked up on when she thought with her mouth open just a few moments prior to her facing off with the Heavy Raider.

"_Voice imprint confirmed." A computer generated voice devoid of inflection continued, "Stand by for message relay on frequency Pi Delta Beta."_

President Roslin interjected.

"Do we have a copy of that conversation, Captain Adama?"

Being the senior pilot and CAG, he knew why she asked him that question. It fell as one of his responsibilities. As someone whom he had served with and for since the destruction of the colonies, he knew the secondary reason why she pointedly asked him that question. She thought he needed someone to pull him back from reliving what happened. He wanted to scoff at her misdirected sense of empathy; didn't she know that you cannot re-live what you haven't stopped experiencing?

"Captain Kelly, would you please roll the playback?" Captain Adama asked even as he felt Lieutenant Agathon sit up straighter and bristle despite the man being two seats away.

"Yes, Sir," Kelly signalled for the tape to be played as events on the screen unfolded and the audio attached to the video was turned down.

Lee didn't need audio-visual support. That was why the Gods gave Men memories.

Xxx Bsg Xxx

One minute she was there, the next thing he knew, Ambush was and the bird she flew was gone.

Lee cut his transmission to Helo and hailed Kara.

"Black Leader – Apollo; acknowledge."

No answer.

"Black Leader – Apollo; ACKNOWLEDGE!" Like Kara, the more riled up he got, the lower his voice dropped. For her not to answer him at a time like this was more than enough to get his back up.

His E.C.O looked nervous as he made a suggestion.

"Maybe she cannot hear you because she is on another frequency, Sir."

Snapping back at the other man, Lee was pure Captain Adama when gave the same order to Helo. "Find that wireless band she's using."

He could feel the seconds tick away when the squawk and squeal of audio feedback made his teeth itch as Starbuck's voice slowly solidified into something recognizable.

Bsg Xxx Bsg

Everyone in the conference room had pens poised and attentions finely tuned as they listened to the verbal exchange and matched what they heard with that was being depicted on the screen.

"_Repeat. This is Viper One-One-Niner, call sign Starbuck acknowledging the vessel Castor."_

"_I would know your voice anywhere, Kara – regardless of what you called yourself."_

"_The name is Starbuck, you will address me as Starbuck and there is no way in Hades that you are Castor."_

"_Interesting choice of words, Persephone; you are the consummate artist, aren't you?"_

"_Starbuck to enemy craft: state your intent or prepare to be engaged." Her malice was clear._

"_Yes, I noticed that as well." Apparently Kastor was not put off by her promise of destruction. "It seems we have an audience don't we? Would you like me to prove to you who I am - Persephone?"_

"_Starbuck to enemy craft: if you stray outside the Codes of Conduct I promise you I will blow you out of the sky and take every one of your little friends with you in the process."_

"_Acknowledge receipt of transaction, _Starbuck_." _

The way he said her name, Lee only heard him call her Kara, not her call sign.

"_As stipulated in the Codes, I am exercising my right for you to provide proof of your intentions and I require the ability to speak with the necessary parties involved."_

"_Done."_

"Pause here," Adama did not look up from the notation he was making as he issued his order. "Mr. Gaeta, do we have confirmation of this?"

"Yes, Sir – we do." The images on the screen dissolved and in their place was a long shot of the Aerilon Maiden and the Raider that was holding it hostage. "This footage was filmed seconds after Lieutenant Thrace-"

"Captain Thrace, Lieutenant Gaeta." Colonel Tigh reminded the tactical officer of Starbuck's promotion.

"Of course; moments after Captain Thrace exercised her right, this happened."

The video began to play again. This time, the Raider slipped backwards and away from its quarry before it blinked and jumped out of the solar system. Free of its sentry, Captain Thrace could be heard talking to Central Command.

"_Galactica – Starbuck; transmit jump co-ordinates to the Aerilon Maiden and instruct the pilot to get his ship out of here RFN."_

_Dee's voice answered. "Co-ordinates transmitted; ship is away. Starbuck, Galactica Actual would like to know-"_

"_Relay to Galactica Actual that looking a gift horse in the mouth can lead to loosened teeth skidding across the barn floor."_

"_Castor to Persephone –"_

"_As stipulated by the Codes, I validate that you willingly and wilfully released an opposing craft to the custody of their sovereign state."_

Signalling for the lights to be marginally brightened, Gaeta addressed the assemblage.

"From this point, systematically, one-by-one, the Fleet began to jump. For every Raider that was withdrawn, a Colonial vessel was allowed to escape as the conversation between Starbuck and Caster progressed."

On the screen, Raiders and ships jumped away. Fast forwarding the film, the longest thirty minutes of Lee's life was played out in less then three minutes.

"At this point," Gaeta again referred to the time stamp affixed on the bottom of the screen. "Every ship was away except Cloud Nine, Colonial One, Galactica and the fighters and raptors under her command."

Tigh settled back in his chair and grumbled loudly. "They reached an accord."

Lee gripped his pen more loosely. If he was going to drive it into Saul's throat for stating the obvious, a tight grip would do just as much damage to his hand as the ball-point would do to the older man's neck as he was forced to hear his own words and her replies echo in his head. Listening to Tigh explain what he said was secondary.

"The Codes of Conduct is a bureaucratic, typed version of 'parley'. Starbuck instigated the ancient mariner's etiquette of parley to free the Fleet."

Bsg Xxx Bsg

"Gods damn it, Starbuck – answer me or I swear that I will ram your frakking bird myself!"

"Starbuck – Apollo; am switching to gamma frequency – all craft, standby and await further instructions. You are ordered to stay the hell off gamma channel."

Lee knew she was speaking to Helo specifically. But at least he now had her partially divided attention. The BaseStar, Heavy Raider and her new friend that was little more than a disembodied voice over the wireless was hard to ignore. As well as the three remaining Attack Raiders holding everyone he lived with, respected, and loved hostage.

"Okay Starbuck – it is just you and me. Wanna fill in a few gaps?"

"Nope. The only reason why I'm talking to you right now is because you would shove your Raptor up my burners if you got pissed enough."

"You're damn straight I would. As your commanding officer, I am ordering you to brief me on your intentions."

"You have no authority here, Captain. I have the board and control of the situation. Sit tight. It will all be over soon." Starbuck's slightly condescending tone was enough to make him want to put his foot through the control panel. But if he did that, then there would be no way for him to fire up his engines and visually inspect her Viper from the inside-out. "I promise."

Oh frak! Starbuck's word was iron clad.

"Oh – and Apollo? I am releasing you from your end of our pact. Make sure you get everyone back on board. Do not leave anyone out here. That is an order, Captain."

"Starbuck – don't do this! Whatever it is, tell me. I cannot help you if you don't tell me what is going on!"

The calm tone of his E.C.O brought back some of his rationality. "She's gone, Sir. She's back on the battle frequency."

He watched as Starbuck fired her aft thrusters and advanced her fighter closer to the Heavy Raider.

"Switch us back, Specialist." Lee commanded quietly. If he continued to shout, then the possibility for him missing a vital piece of intelligence or moment of opportunity existed.

Apparently, Helo had such qualms.

"Apollo – Helo; stop her! Why the frak are you just sitting there?" Hearing the other man breathe heavily for a moment, he was more cohesive when he came back on the line. "Apologies, Sir. I lost my cool for a moment. With all due respect, Apollo – what the FRAK is she frakking thinking?"

"Apollo – Galactica Actual; I want a SitRep that explains what I am seeing!" Lee would bet that Tigh's mouth barely moved when he snarled out his latest command.

Collecting his thoughts, Kara's bird came to a stop less than a click away from the Heavy Raider. On DRAEDIS, the Attack Raider standing guard over Colonial One kicked on its engine and flew over the bow of the ship only to blink out in a flash of light. Immediately, Colonial One followed suit and jumped to rejoin the Fleet at the rendezvous point.

"The last civilian vessel is next." Her voice was steely.

"To quote you, because you put it so eloquently: as stipulated in the Codes, I am exercising my right for you to provide proof of your intentions and I require the ability to speak with the necessary parties involved_."_ The 'captain' of the BaseStar transmitted his request with a Colonial code-signal.

"Proof of intentions will be provided momentarily. Speaking with the necessary parties has already occurred when you took it upon your self to pirate an enemy frequency. Permission denied, Castor." Starbuck cut her transmission and jammed any further communications from reaching the Galactica, Cloud Nine or the remaining members of the squadron.

Xxx Bsg Xxx

Lee snapped himself back to the present just as Tigh was filling President Roslin in on the finer points of parley.

"You see, when it comes to invoking the right of parley, what it all comes down to is this: who wants what the most, how far one is willing to go to get what they want, and what one deems an acceptable sacrifice as a means to achieve one's goals." Snorting derisively at the screen as Kara's Viper approached the Heavy Raider, he finished up. "Captain Thrace played a tricky hand with nothing but a pair of brass balls to back her up. Whatever she told them, they bought her bluff and earned our freedom. I have never approved of her or her conduct as a Colonial officer before today. As of right now, she has my respect."

Helo spoke up.

"Per Captain Adama's orders, I cross-referenced the voice-print we have on file from Starbuck's original interrogation of Leoben and an audio sample from the transmissions issued by the ship called Caster."

Lee saw a fleeting look of regret flit across his father's face. Kara would have never interacted with that rat-bastard if the Commander hadn't sent her the Geminon Traveller in the first place.

"They do not match." Reporting his finding, Helo shuffled his papers before replying. "Nor is there talk about water and streams or his place in Cylon evolution. We are listening to someone new here."

Looking through the lower lens of her glasses, President Roslin looked in Helo's direction. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Propping her elbows on the table, Kat piped up. "It's interesting that this Caster knew exactly which ships to keep."

Still focused on what he was writing, Adama said the one thought on everyone's mind, "Spies. Every war has them and this one is no exception. Call them sympathizers, empathizers, Unification Specialists, whatever; there are as many titles assumed as there are those who commit treason. The Cylons struck at the worse possible time. You all behaved admirably and are to be commended, but the attack could not have come at a worse time." Sparing a look at Lee, Saul and finally Laura, he put it simply. "We have a rat problem, people."

Letting go of Adama's eyes and switching her gaze to Billy, Roslin murmured instructions to her aide. "Please inform Doctor Cottle that as soon as Captain Thrace is fit for release, I would like her to report for an immediate de-briefing."

Jotting down her request, Billy confirmed he understood what she said. "I will communicate with Major Cottle as soon as we are finished Madame President."

Lee, Karl, Gaeta, Tigh, Adama and the rest of the attack squadron looked at the walls, shifted in their seats and avoiding meeting the President's eyes. The fact that she didn't know was evident in the way her hair swung around her shoulders as she tried to glean information no one wanted to answer. "Apparently I am missing something?"

Lee looked at his father, and asked for permission – son to father – to leave the room with a flick of his eyes. Standing up, he nodded to Roslin and made his way out of the room.

"Captain Apollo, where are you going?" Being kept in the dark was bad enough, now persons with vital intel were leaving the de-briefing.

He looked down at his father before touching eyes with Roslin.

"I'm going to search for Captain Thrace, Madame President, so that she can show up for her de-briefing." His words came out harsher and more biting than the way they sounded in his head, but all things considered, he could have said something a lot worse and inflicted a lot more damage. Just ask his father or Kara.

Watching his son pull open the door, he didn't have to look up to know Laura was expecting some serious explanations.

"Lieutenant Agathon, go help Captain Adama search for Starbuck." Adama did not even look in Helo's direction when he gave his order. Speaking to everyone else, he said, "Anyone who wants to stay is welcome to; anyone who wants to go with the exception of Colonel Tigh, myself, Lieutenant Gaeta and Madam President is free to do so."

The sound of chairs scraping as they were pushed back and papers being gathered never happened. An overwhelming sense of respect and – homage – filled the room.

Looking at Adama, Laura fought the urge to rest her hand on his sleeve and settled for a nearly breathless question.

"Commander, is Captain Thrace… dead?"

Giving her a side-long look, he clarified, "I don't send officers or personnel to search for dead people, Madam President." Calling on the strength it took to be a career Colonial officer for more than forty years, Commander Adama prepared himself to do what his son could not. Relive the moments between Colonial One jumping to safety and the instant Cloud Nine rejoined her sister ships. Not even he had seen what had happened after that.

"Mr. Gaeta, if you would."

Xxx Bsg Xxx

Lee heard the door to the conference room swing shut behind him, but kept his eyes closed. If he opened them, he knew that he would see his hands still encased in flight gloves, beating against the inside of his Raptor view port. That was what he had always told himself he would do if he ever saw…

She was the only one who could get him this angry. She was the only one who ever drew out the primal side of his psyche that he has spent so long mastering control over. She was the only one who could make him laugh at himself in a way that was affirming rather than degrading. She was the only one who called him on his bullshit and stood up to the icy demeanour that had been his ace-in-the-hole throughout his career. She never let him shut down. Never let him retreat completely in the shell of an existence he inhabited prior to the ending of the Colonies. She was the only one he wanted to hit on a regular basis and he was the only one who could knock her on her ass when she needed it. She fought dirty, played hard and never gave more than she was willing to concede, could quote Kataris from memory, was able to hustle a room full of card sharks and knew how to be a better human being than half the people he had served with over the past ten-plus years.

Squeezing his eyes tighter, he started to make his way down the corridor. He had learned his mind's response to trauma after he and Starbuck blew up the Olympic Carrier. He needed to get away and somewhere more private than not when the flashbacks started to play out against the insides of his eyelids. Somehow, he was aware of a door opening and closing. He just hoped – for their sake – they knew well enough to leave him alone.

A strong set of fingers clamped down on his shoulder. No one but Starbuck would sneak up on him like that. Leave it to her to be playing one of her games right about now.

"Kara – I am so not in the mood for your antics right now." He started speaking before he fully looked at the arm attached to the body of Karl Agathon. "Frak, Helo. I'm sorry."

"I hear ya, man. Let's go find Kara. This way, follow me." Karl fell instep beside him and together they made their way across the ship. "I know exactly where we need to go."

It was two decks later when the first in a series of emotionally charged flashbacks, matching frame for frame what everyone in that frakking conference room was watching on the 'mission playback', knocked the wind from his lungs and buckled his knees. He barely felt Helo drag him into a storage locker and away from prying eyes.

Bsg Xxx Bsg

It was a stand-off. One Viper facing one Heavy Raider as a BaseStar loomed ominously in the distance. In the balance hung the lives of the squadron, Galactica and every soul on board the Cloud Nine – his father's among them.

There was ceaseless chatter between the ships. Everyone wanted to know what was going on and the only person who had any answers wasn't talking to him or anyone. He had heard Helo's pleas for her to stop whatever it was she was doing. Even Kat got in on the cajoling band-wagon. She turned a deaf ear to all.

He did hear her page luxury liner. When that happened, everyone went quiet. There was no way she was going to ignore Adama.

"Starbuck – what do you hear?" Commander Adama issued his own pop quiz.

"Its clear skies, Sir and a glassy sea," Starbuck smoothly responded. "You are going to have an easy sail, Sir. After all, that's my job, right? That's why you pay me by the cubit."

"Your job is to stay in this old man's life. I need my son and my daughter by my side, Starbuck. I need someone to keep Apollo from feeding me green gelatine in twenty years."

A broken laugh was cut short.

"Sorry, Sir – you know how it goes. Once you've made your bed, you've got to lie in it."

"Not if that bed ceases to exist, Starbuck." Adama nearly growled as he argued the one loop hole in her logic. "I don't care what you've done, what deal you've made. I can protect you. Apollo can protect you."

"Not this time, Sir." Her taking a deep breath was eerie. He was always used to Starbuck just doing things because it needed to be done. "Promise me that you will make sure each and every person gets on board. There are a lot of floating birds both here and at the back of the fleet. Bring them home, Commander. I don't trust Apollo; not on this. Knowing him, he will probably hijack the first repaired, refuelled Raptor and seek retribution. Make sure he lives to fly another day. Make sure they all live to fly another day. Hell – you'll make the Chief's day while you're at it."

Lee had to interrupt even though he knew why she did not include him in her conversation with their father. He and Kara had already said their goodbyes.

"Starbuck. Don't. Do. This."

"Starbuck, you are to report to Galactica's hanger deck immediately," Adama had had enough. Switching up to his most intimidating, well riled Commander, I-am-not-going-to-deal-with-your-insubordination-any-longer persona, his voice boomed across the comms like a gun shot. "After that, you will report to my office and we will figure out another way out of this."

"I'm afraid not, Sir. You see, they already have."

The next fifteen seconds played out in the slowest motion he had ever experience in his life.

The burners on Kara's Viper cut out.

Her thrusters stopped adjusting her position.

Movement from the Heavy Raider caught the corner of his eye. A detail of four Centurions were mag-locked to the outside of the hull.

Helo's voice erupted from his centre console.

Seelix was relaying what she was seeing to those at positioned along the edge of the Fisherman's Net.

Adama was silent – he could not see what was happening in front of his son's eyes.

Kara ejected from her bird and arched into space, securely belted to her flight chair. Her side arm she flung away as she soared towards the Heavy Raider and certain death.

Somewhere in his mind, his analytical side put two and two together: evacuating her Viper was her 'proof of intentions'.

Helo was screaming to him not to let her go, that she was what they were after all along, but he really could not hear what Agathon was saying as the loading dock for the Heavy Raider opened and the guard perched off the starboard stern of Cloud Nine flew overhead and jumped away. On his DRAEDIS, Cloud Nine jumped as well.

Looking off his port bow, Starbuck's security detail was towing her into the Heavy Raider. Once she was in range, a glint of silver was all he could see as the metal soldier nearest to her cracked her face-plate. Don't they know they didn't have to do that? For better or worse, Starbuck, Kara and Lt. Thrace always kept a promise – whether she wanted to or not.

Watching the airlock re-seal, the hope of seeing her face one last time vanished in the bright flash of an FTL jump as both the Heavy Raider, remaining attack Raider and BaseStar vanished off the scopes.

Xxx Bsg Xxx

On the floor of the storage locker, Lee fought to bring breath back into his body. He had been there when it was just you, a transponder, a cracked face plate and the skill behind who ever was assigned to Search and Rescue was all that stood between you and a passage down the River Styx.

Looking up at Helo through a sheen of well-tethered tears as he pushed himself upright and braced one hand against the metal wall, he choked out two words even as his fingers tried to claw their way through inches of Battlestar grade steel.

"She's gone."

Bsg Xxx Bsg

In the conference room, everyone stood in the dark and saluted the empty expanse of space where certain doom threatened mankind and the tide was turned by the sacrifice of one woman, pilot, friend and daughter.

It was a long moment before Bill Adama could face the light so he let the moment stretch.

Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx

Manacled, chained and leashed with a metal collar, Starbuck rolled her shoulders to alleviate a cramp as the Heavy Raider docked with the BaseStar.

Pushed and pulled at the same time down the gangplank, she shook her hair out of her face and took her mind off the wet squelching sounds her flight boots made as she crossed the organic matter that carpeted the flight deck by focusing on how much damage she could inflict before she was done 'redecorating'. She had promised that she would come willingly and without a fight. At no point had the parley they settled on include post-abduction behaviour. If anything, a sense of calm spread through out her mind and body as she prepared herself. Everyone was safe: Cally, Lee, the Old Man, and Helo – everyone. She did what she had signed on to do when she scrawled her name on the dotted line almost seven years ago.

He shocked her by using her 'other' name when she was least expecting it. The way she figured it, turn about was fair play.

Kicked to her knees, the smooth fabric of her flight suit suctioned to the moist decking as her body made contact. A lock of hair fell across her eyes even as a large shadow blocked her view, A gentle hand swept her bangs aside as a warm, brown gaze locked onto her hazel-green eyes.

"Hello, Kara."

"Hello, Zak. Or should I call you Anders?"


	11. Chapter 11: Enemy of My Enemy

**Another Way: Chapter 11**

**Enemy of My Enemy**

Manacled, chained and leashed with a metal collar, Starbuck rolled her shoulders to alleviate a cramp as the Heavy Raider docked with the BaseStar.

Pushed and pulled at the same time down the gangplank, she shook her hair out of her face and took her mind off the wet squelching sounds her flight boots made as she crossed the organic matter that carpeted the flight deck by focusing on how much damage she could inflict before she was done 'redecorating'. She had promised that she would come willingly and without a fight. At no point had the parley they settled on include post-abduction behaviour. If anything, a sense of calm spread through out her mind and body as she prepared herself. Everyone was safe: Cally, Lee, the Old Man, and Helo – everyone. She did what she had signed on to do when she scrawled her name on the dotted line almost seven years ago.

He shocked her by using her 'other' name when she was least expecting it. The way she figured it, turn about was fair play.

Kicked to her knees, the smooth fabric of her flight suit suctioned to the moist decking as her body made contact. A lock of hair fell across her eyes even as a large shadow blocked her view; a gentle hand swept her bangs aside as a warm, brown gaze locked onto her hazel-green eyes.

"Hello, Kara."

"Hello, Zak. Or should I call you Anders?"

Taking a deep breath, she faced him like the demon he was, not the man she saw standing over her who shared the same face.

"After all, bouncing him was just like frakking you. I'm surprised it took me this long to figure it out. But then again, it was supposed to be, wasn't it? How many hours did you spend coaching him on how to act like you?" Sneering and making her voice as disparaging as possible, she added, "However long you spent with him, it obviously wasn't enough because he never took the 'downtown train', and you know how much I like to have my ticket punched by a decent 'conductor'."

"No one ever gave you enough credit Kara for that brain of yours. I've always told people that you were smarter than you looked and wilier than you let on." Zak continued to look down at her. "No one ever doubted how dangerous you are, though. But I think you might have forgotten that your claws have no affect on me, Persephone. I. Know. You."

"Don't call me that. My name is Starbuck." Kara ground out.

Memories, images, flashes of another life threatened to overwhelm her. Every time he spoke, a fresh wave washed over her, pulling at her need to stay in the moment, to focus on the fact that she was now a Cylon prisoner with no means of escape readily apparent. Stepping off the Heavy Raider, she had to stifle the shock of actually looking at the machine that she once promised to share the rest of her life with and marry. He looked like the Zak she knew, but that was where the similarities ended. He moved differently. His voice did not ring with the same inflections. The way he would have normally drawn her out of her foul moods with his easy smile or infectious laugh – or deflect one of her pissy attitudes with a moment of spontaneity was gone. In its place was a machine that had been created for one purpose: to bring her to her destiny - what ever the frak that was supposed to mean. Holding onto her anger, holding onto the devastation of her home world that she saw with her own eyes, holding onto the promise she made when she invoked Blood Rights to send this BaseStar to Hades was the only way she was going to do what needed to be done when the time came.

"Because, you see, I do not use those words flippantly." Undaunted by the way she slung her words at him, he kept the same tone that he used when he first greeted her. "I loved you. And, if it is God's Will, then you and I will be together again. If not, God will not abandon you, Kara. He loves you. Through Him, you will see why you have suffered and what a gift it is to be moulded, fired, broken and reshaped by His hands to do His works."

"What am I? Some sort of pin-up girl you Cylons fall in love with at the drop of a hat? First you, then Leoben – who's next? As interesting as girl-love is, Six is not my type. She looks feminine, but she really is too butch for me to have a lasting relationship with, not to mention we would always be fighting over who would be on top." Her Starbuck smirk and a withering attitude carried her meanings. "And apparently you have developed a hearing problem since you did a full-body implant on the tarmac, Zak. My. Name. Is. Starbuck."

His hand came down and for a moment Starbuck thought she had pushed his buttons enough to provoke him to strike her. She needed him to become like others in her life that used physical punishments to drive their points home. Once they crossed that line, she could re-classify where he fell in her life, putting him a different category, changing the way she looked at him. Obliterating their history as far as she was concerned. Instead, he knuckled the soft skin underneath her chin and gently tipped her head up so that she had nowhere else to look but in his eyes – he knew what she was trying to do and stopped her cold.

"And it is Starbuck who has kept you from your destiny. Kara, you are free of her now. I saw you, you know – when we were together." His fingers spread wide and he twisted his wrist so that he was now cradling her jaw line. If it were any other setting, the word 'tender' would be the adjective used to described him. "You thought you only let me see Starbuck. Don't misunderstand my perceptions as weaknesses; Starbuck may have a part to play in this before God completely reveals his intentions. In a way, it is because of her that you are here today. Well, among others. It was your fear that made me let you go when you returned to Caprica. Now, God has told me it is time for you to conquer your fears and be the instrument you were created to become."

Tilting his head, a certain level of ruthlessness wrapped itself around him even as he talked to her like she was a three year old trying to understand how someone can have a first, middle and last name all at the same time.

"Your name is Persephone, Kara and Mine."

Stepping away, Starbuck watched him nod to the Centurions who held the reins to her bonds. Gagging slightly as she was dragged to her feet, her flight suit pulling away from the decking with difficulty, she took a look around her.

Rows of Raiders hung from the ceiling like bats in a cave. The Heavy Raider was being moved into a staging area and already Centurions were pulling out fuel hoses to prep the ship for a future launch. Everything was neat, orderly and a sensation of the Cylon world being very antiseptic pricked at the analytical side of her mind.

Zak's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"I have had more than two years to prepare for you, Persephone and they have not been spent lightly."

Zak motioned to the guards one more time. Now she was being pushed-pulled out of the hanger bay.

"Where are you taking me?" Starbuck asked. The sounds of her flight boots tearing furrows into the organic decking had Zak stopping and turning to face her one more time.

"Just wait until you see what awaits you. Your life is going to change and become what it was meant to be." Falling instep beside her, Zak added, "I am going to make sure we do things right this time. God has promised his children their rightful place and so it shall come to pass."

Breathing might be difficult with the metal collar around her neck, but her private voices was working loud and clear as the hanger bay fell behind them and she was manoeuvred deeper into the BaseStar.

"Who knows, Kara – maybe God will choose to bless us with a second child."

_We'll just see about that, won't we?_

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

He worked.

He ate.

He went to the Physical Training Centre every day.

He flew his CAPs, oversaw refuelling runs, organized security details and did his job every day.

He even slept.

When he worked, he worked alone.

When Captain Adama ate, it was either by himself or with Helo as there was little room at the table due to the star charts, papers and diagrams layered around him for much else.

When Captain Adama worked out, snippets of conversations, extrapolations or astral-calculations would hiss out over his teeth as he punished the speed bag and ran hard, uphill, on the treadmill.

CAPs found Captain Adama behind the stick. Captain Adama set up protocols to ensure his people stayed safe.

The only time he gave anyone a clue that Captain Adama had once been Lee Adama or even Apollo was when he went to bed or tended to personal business.

As CAG, it is his job to clean out lockers when pilots are 'no longer with the Fleet'. He oversees the auctions. He assigns rack space.

Hot Dog, after a moment of empathy, found himself the bearer of five extra maintenance shifts when he quietly asked if Apollo would like him to clear out Starbuck's stuff for him, if it would it make it any easier on the Senior Pilot. And that was before Helo pulled the younger man aside and asked Constanza if he liked walking up-right without the aid of a foot up his ass.

Not one item of Kara's ever went to auction. Her triad cards still held her last shuffle. Her shower kit rested along side his. The wooden box with its velvet wrapped contents stayed exactly as she left them. Her boots stood along side his larger shoes. The brass on her dress greys clinked against the pins on the sash that crossed his own dress uniform whenever he jangled the two garments together when reaching for something he needed. One locker to one person, one person to one rack – that was the ratio built into the bunkrooms on a Battlestar. And that was still the case because Lee moved his belongings into her space; Starbuck and Apollo were the different sides of the same person. The small cubby-holes in her rack-space were crowded as he mingled their precious few mementos when he stopped sleeping in his rack, crossed the bunkroom and settled into hers.

The only thing he moved was her picture of the three of them. It was old. Older than he cared to think about, because it was from another life, another time when his biggest worries were centred around his career, his brother and the woman he tried to keep at arm's length. The photo was creased, and worn, and there were smudges from her fingers tracing each of their faces. But he kept the picture the way she had it; folded so that it only showed her and him. In a way, it was them: each of them looking away from the other while making sure each of them were close enough to touch, if they wanted too. This, he pressed smooth against the 'roof' of his – hers – _their_ – rack. He needed her to be exactly where he left her when he closed his eyes because it was the only way he could be sure she would still be there when he woke up in the morning.

He still mingled with the people in his command. Or rather, they made sure he stayed connected to them, even if the Triad games were less boisterous. The MP in the brig did not have his favourite tenant in hack but took the time to tell Captain Adama that her cot was waiting for her the instant got back. The Chief's Special Brew wasn't passed around with the same amount of mirth. Not that their lives were put on hold, or that there was a pervasive feeling of mourning crowding the corners of the rec rooms. She was a prisoner of war, not dead. Her Viper had been recovered and towed into the hanger bay, the only time her name plate came off was when the Chief and Cally took it down to replace it with one that depicted her new rank.

Even knowing that all she had to do was come back didn't prevent people from noticing that there was a certain sparkle missing from the Battlestar.

That the element of unpredictability was no longer in the air, suspended inside a cloud of blue tinged cigar smoke. Sure, people played pranks on one another and egos still inflated to the point where the deck crews joked about the rivets popping from the strain, but the good natured arguments over who was Top Gun ceased. As if any of them could put a picture of a BaseStar on the side of their Viper. Drinking was still a favourite past-time, drinking games still went on way too long, but it was different now. Not sombre, but calmer. The only personality anyone felt when someone walked into the room before they were seen was the CAG's. No one else made anyone else's head turn just by entering the room.

Where he spent the remainder of his time was no secret to anyone on Galactica: Pilot's Ready Room. The answers were there, in the length of celluloid and digital recordings of one pilot giving herself up so that humanity might live to struggle another day.

Tonight, he was meeting with Helo even as he reviewed the notes he took when he got together with Colonel Tigh. The man had fought against the Cylons and had forty years to think about them – he had to have some ideas about what made a Cylon tick. The XO was one of the staunchest people to talk about Starbuck in the present-tense. He knew what Captain Adama knew – they would not do what they had done just to kill her once they had her.

Answer: _The thing you have to understand about machines, Captain, is that they only do as they are told - nothing more, nothing less. Cylons never do anything without a plan._

Capt. Adama leaned back and slung an arm across the back of his chair as he remembered watching his father's oldest friend recall moments where Saul did not think he would live to see his next birthday. The man spoke the truth. There is always a goal, a need, an accomplishment behind every Cylon action. Just because it was not laid out in front of him in big block letters did not mean it wasn't true. Tapping the ends of his pen against the table top, he looked back at the empty chair that previously held the older man. Only, he had treated their time together as more of a debriefing than a brain-picking session. War College taught him many things. Among which, the more information you had, the more contingencies can be counter measured.

Question: _What do you think they want?_

Answer: _To chase us across galaxy after frakking galaxy until every single man, woman and child is dead._

Tigh's mouth had moved without him even having to think about the answer to that question.

Tapping the ends of his pen against the table top again, he reached for the remote controlling the audio-visual equipment. Helo was late but that didn't mean Capt. Adama was going to wait for Agathon to get there before getting started.

It was always the same procedure. Date and time stamp his notes. Watch the playback as if it were the first time he was seeing the recordings. Once finished, he would bring out his sheaf of previous notes and painstakingly compare them to the most current editions and see what new piece of information he dredged. He had learned to turn off his anger at Starbuck for doing what she did over the course of the last six weeks while watching the videotapes. But that didn't mean he didn't curse her name when all the little things she did to make his job easier as a CAG, all the big things she did to frak with his life as Lee and everything in between she did to his Captainship didn't happen. Or the transition from seeing her do something selfish – _as if she were the only one to save the Fleet_ – to something idiotic – _doing something only she would do to save the Fleet_ – was any easier.

He had his father to thank for that.

Adama never stopped him from watching the recordings. Adama never questioned him about his latest efficiency kick. Adama looked the other way every time his son paled in the wake of another FTL jump. He did call his son into his quarters and tell Lee – not Captain Adama – that, in no uncertain terms did he have the cornerstone on grief, anger or self-reproach. Adama was very clear that everyone was beating themselves up over what happened, that no one could have foreseen what had happened and that the last person in the universe that could be considered predictable was Kara. There was no way to know what was going to happen because she didn't want anybody to know what was going on.

Brushing invisible lint from a fresh piece of paper, Lee started to make another list of questions.

Picking up speed the more he thought and wrote, he almost missed Karl letting himself into the Ready Room.

"I'm late – I know." Lowering himself into a chair, Helo skipped formalities as he turned the folder he was carrying flat and upside down against the tabletop.

"What's up? Anything I need to know about?" Lee switched from theorist to CAG with a flick of his eyes.

"Yeah – but it will keep." Looking at Lee's finger clench his pen with whitened knuckles he added, "Really – it is nothing urgent. Kat stopped me in the hallway and, well, she took a while to spit out her question." Nodding at the page nearly filled with Lee's thoughts and ideas, he asked, "Watcha got, Apollo?"

Helo – Karl – was the only one Lee tolerated hearing his or Kara's given name roll off their tongue besides his father. Though, truth be told, the few times Lee had said her name in Adama's presence, the Old Man seemed suddenly older and reflexively pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. The same went for his other name; Helo and the Commander were never corrected for using his call sign, unlike the rest of the crew. If he was in the air, that was one thing; that was work and responsibility and regulations. But out of the cockpit, he was Captain Adama and expected to be addressed as such. It wasn't like he could tell people that hearing his call-sign come from someone else's mouth made him hear her tease him about breaking his ship or remind him she was in stealth ship and that he shouldn't be able to find her because she _was in_ a stealth ship. And that was just not the place for him to be, as a leader, when someone was just trying to talk to him. Hearing everyone else use Starbuck or Captain Thrace to refer to Kara was fine – no problems there. If anything, it made him smile because even her more embarrassing exploits, dumbass stunts or toe-curling acrobatics were recounted by crew members as a matter of having bragging rights to having seen her pull one stunt or another in person. It was a double standard, but it was his and everyone else could go frak themselves if they had a problem with it or him.

Dropping the pen and tipping back his chair until two legs lifted off the ground Lee leaned forward and re-balanced the chair.

"Let's try something different, Helo."

"Okay – what are you thinking?" Pulling a pen from his back pocket and helping himself to some of Lee's paper, he got ready to follow Apollo's lead.

"Let's take it from another point of view."

"The Cylons?" Helo clarified. "We've been over that already."

"No," Lee clicked his pen several times before launching into his idea, "Kara's."

Attempting some levity, Helo snarked, "Thinking like Starbuck can be dangerous to one's health, Apollo. I thought you knew that?"

"That is why we're going to look at things like Kara saw them, not Starbuck." Cracking a half-hearted smile and ribbing his best friend who couldn't clock him for adding, "I don't think the quartermaster has enough brain-bleach in stock if that happened, do you?"

Tucking away his own smile for another time, Helo stood up and joined Lee at the dry-erase board. By the set in the younger man's shoulders, it was easy to see that playtime was definitely over. Wiping it clean, Lee drew a long line the length of the board and made a heavier mark at the far end of the line.

"This is right now, six weeks later." Backtracking, he made another thick mark. "This was then." A series of heavy marks were added. "This is Kobol, coming back from Caprica, leaving for Caprica, the tylium raid, Leoben's interrogation, her crash landing, and this," the other end of the time line was cut-off as he put the cap back on the marker. "This is the end of the worlds. Somehow, between then and now, the Cylons developed some sort of fixation with Kara."

"Says who?" Helo wasn't being flip, he was thinking out loud. "Who says it started with the end of the worlds? What if they were gunning for her way before that?"

"How far back are you thinking?" Lee asked. This was an interesting tangent. He always suspected that it took a few dozen Raider-kills for Starbuck to show up on the Cylon radar. What if he was wrong? No, he had already considered that, which was why his timeline started with the Holocaust and not Kara's academy or Pyramid days. "No way, Karl – how would they find her, one woman, among the billions of people who made up the population of the colonies?"

"I don't know – maybe they were watching someone else and all they had to do was wait to see who would show up?"

"Like who, Helo?"

"I don't know, Apollo. Think of it as a blind date. You know she is coming, she is going to be at a certain place at a certain time, but you don't know what she looks like. What do you do? You get there early, you stay put until who ever she is shows up at the appointed time at the appointed place." Helo explained.

"Okay – let's come back to that later." Turning back to the board and popping the cap off the marker again, he added two more items to the board.

Helo read the words as quickly as they appeared: Persephone, Caster.

"Who is Persephone?" Lee asked, even though he knew the answer.

"Kara," Helo responded automatically. The story of Persephone, the only daughter of Demeter, kidnapped by Hades and because she ate of the fruit of the underworld, a compromise was struck where it was decided that she was to spend half the year on earth, with her mother, and the other half of the year as queen of the underworld played out in his imagination.

"Why?" Lee needed to hear Helo's reasoning.

"Because when she answered, Caster didn't blow her up." Helo justified his logic.

"So that makes Caster the Heavy Raider?" Something about that question did not ring true with Lee.

"Why would a Heavy Raider be called Caster?" Helo following what Lee was saying, but it wasn't clicking with him as of yet.

"You said it was."

"When?"

"Just now – when you said that the Heavy Raider blew up Ambush but not Starbuck," Lee explained.

Seeing his point, Helo countered, "What about this – what if the Caster was aboard the Heavy Raider and not the Heavy Raider itself?"

"What if The Caster was on the BaseStar and told the Heavy Raider to blow up anyone who said they were Persephone but wasn't?" Lee took Helo's idea one step further and applied what he learned from Tigh about how Cylons operated.

"That would have to mean that Caster and Persephone knew one another in order for Caster not to be fooled by Ambush's lie." Helo connected the dots but the picture was still not complete.

A sudden thought had Lee thinking inward before he shared his idea.

"Is it; The Caster – as in a ship's name or a fishing term, like throwing your line, trying to catch something? Or is a call sign; Caster?"

Helo popped both his eyebrows at those questions. "Both work, but based on the fact that he was hailing Persephone, I don't think it is unreasonable for it to be a call-sign of sorts."

"And who gives out call signs?"

"Flight instructors, mates and stories that will never be told to your children," Helo said.

"Kara gives out call signs." Lee threaded a few more dots and drew a ragged breath over his teeth. "Oh, Gods, Karl – Kara gave Caster his call-sign! That is why she knew him that was why he knew her."

"But Kara has been Starbuck since the Academy. She has never been designated with any other name," Helo picked up the role of trying to poke holes in Lee's logic. Remembering the triad game where Starbuck clocked Tigh, he said out loud what his memory replayed. "She said she got it after she got thrown into hack for drunken and disorderly conduct."

"So you were right Karl, this does go back before the end of the worlds." Lee conceded. He felt a chill run under his skin at the concept of Kara being marked when the plans for the holocaust of the Colonies was being planned by the Cylons.

Standing up, Helo started to pace. "What if we were wrong about something else, Lee?"

"Like what?"

"You have listened to the recordings how many times?" Helo looked at Lee as the captain waved his hands signalling that he lost track of how many times he watched the movies and said, "Nearly every day, right?"

"Yeah – pretty much." Lee agreed.

"Have you ever noticed that Kara says Cast-_or_ and it is everyone else who calls 'him' Cast-_er_?"

"She does pronounce it Castor – doesn't she?"

Helo nodded; Lee's mind was working a parsec-a-minute and he knew better than to interrupt – just like Kara.

"Kara – Persephone – knows Castor. Knowing that Castor is a Cylon, and that the Cylons have been after her for a while now, since when – Caprica?" Lee looked to Helo for confirmation.

"Before that – Kara said Leoben alluded to her destiny and Sharon confirmed it on Caprica as I was patching her up, just before Starbuck brought us to Kobol."

"Right – she was shot and the bullet knicked her kidney, right?"

Lee's question was rhetorical, but it took Helo a moment to make up his mind about something.

"We rescued her, you know."

"Rescued who?" Helo's sudden change in topic caught him off guard.

"Kara – we rescued Kara on Caprica. Well, she rescued herself – for the most part. By the time we got there, she was face down in the dirt with Centurions firing on her. We laid down some cover and then Sharon swooped in with a Heavy Raider she stole and air-lifted all of us to safety. But I re-bandaged her myself – she suffered more than a bullet wound. It looks like she was operated on, Lee."

If Lee ever needed Captain Adama it was right now. Hearing what Karl just told him would have made Lee throw up and Apollo ready to lead a strike team to obliterate into the Cylon home world for what they did to his wingman. Captain Adama could be counted on to be cold, analytical and protective all at the same time.

"To what end? Why would they do that? What does she have that…" Cottle's addendum came into sharp focus in his mind's eye even as his voice trailed off.

"I don't know, she wouldn't tell me. And she said that she was the only one who could protect herself from them." Helo was holding something back, but Lee did press the larger man for more details. Sharing what he just offered obviously breeched some level of confidentiality between Karl and Kara.

"So why, after all this, knowing that Castor is a Cylon, that the Cylons had orchestrated this elaborate trap just for the sake of capturing her, why did she do it?"

"Because she was protecting us," Helo answered automatically.

Lee's mind whirred into overdrive.

"She was, but on several different levels."

"Spit it out, Lee."

"She knew who he was, he knew who she was. She got the Fleet away from the Cylons, but by doing so, she also kept Castor from the Fleet." Turning to the board, Lee looped several circles around the names Persephone and Castor. "Do you know why she did that?"

For the second time, Helo let Lee go where his mind was leading him.

"She could have ended her own life, or had me order one of the Vipers to fire on her after she ejected but before she was hauled on board. Hell, we could have blown that Heavy Raider out of the sky before it docked with the BaseStar."

"So why didn't you, Apollo?"

"But she told me that she was releasing me from our end of our agreement. She wanted to be – she needed to be – alive to uphold her end of the bargain."

"She struck an accord, Apollo. She gave her word: her for the Fleet." Taking a seat and propping his ankle against his knee, he sat back and dared Lee to contradict the magnitude of Kara's sacrifice.

"No – I am not being clear. Listen to me Karl." Lee leaned forward and braced his fingertips against the tabletop. "What she did, very few of us could ever say we would do if we were in her shoes. But it was a smoke screen, Karl. It was a secondary objective. Saving the Fleet was her priority, yes, but she was running a defensive play at the same time she laying down the Codes of Conduct."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that she kept Castor as far from the Fleet as she could because we know who Castor is, Karl."

Lee's words filled every square inch of the Ready Room.

Helo stood up and in one smooth motion kicked a chair and watched it tumble and crash. Only when the chair came to rest did he turn and look at Apollo; his act of frustration didn't knock the rigidness out of his stance.

"Frak, Lee – not we as in the Fleet. We know as in you, me and the Old Man know who Castor is."

Lee opened his mouth again in the wake of Karl's insight. Only this time, it was more of a prayer to the woman who resided in the warrior.

"Come on Kara – help us find you before it is too late."

_I need you._


	12. Chapter 12:The Backside of Valour

**Another Way: Chapter 12**

**The Backside of Valour: Part One**

Sleep does not come easily to the old, the infirm, the anxious or the sick-at-heart.

To carry the burden of leadership in a time of war when the call to duty was best left to the younger generation, to shoulder responsibility when the scar of mortality stretched from chest to stomach, to fight the bile that rose with the cadence of a voice reduced to the gravel that paved a life's path, to justify sacrificing his child on the Alter of Survival so that there would be those to read the accounts of acts and decisions made before their time had rendered him sleepless and restless.

Heavy, deliberate steps stopped once he crossed the threshold and made his way down the access stairs.

The hanger bay was quiet. Third shift was just hours from completion and life on the ship – his ship – was as still as it ever got.

His eyes surveyed the Vipers, Raptors, shuttlecrafts, compressors, and toolboxes. Hoses snaking out along the decking carved up the bright white cavern into city-states of Repair, Re-Fit and Re-Instate.

He didn't know why his early morning wandering brought him here until he saw it.

His eyes travelled over his son's Mark VII. A passing glance acknowledged the presence of 'Laura', the stealth ship conceived, created and flown by a crew that needed a sense of accomplishment beyond living to see another day. It was not even his own ship, the one he flew more than thirty-five years ago, that he sought.

It was her ship, his daughter's Mark II that he needed to see. The ship that loved the best pilot he had ever seen and denied 'his' mistress nothing. The bird of prey was unique as the pilot who cradled the throttle with her gifted hands. For one thing, unlike most pilots, she always called her Viper a 'he', not a 'her', when she referred to her plane. Nor was this an ordinary Mark II. 'He' never said 'no' to his mistress because she never gave 'him' a reason to deny anything she asked of 'him'. She pushed 'him' to go faster because she tweaked his engine and streamlined his exchangers so that when she needed more power, he had it to give. She tumbled him end-over-end, twisting and pulling him through endless dogfights and intercept courses because she found a way to channel the effectiveness of his thrusters with a little more control than the other birds in The Nest so that when a situation mandated the need for a retina-detaching-beyond-insane manoeuvre, the possibility existed. And, to say that she loved 'him' back was a given.

Commander Adama had heard her expound to her nuggets just what it meant to be one with an aircraft before she teasingly hailed Galactica to ask if he wanted to 'Ring Around the Moon' with her class. Walking closer her Viper, his hands lightly traced the bold-faced letters of her rank, name and call sign even as her voice echoed his head.

"_The Viper is a beautiful piece of machinery. Sensitive, responsive, tough, resilient, nurturing even, it is the embodiment of what every mother, father, brother, sister, lover, husband, wife, girlfriend, boyfriend and frak-buddy should be. It tells you when something is wrong, it shows you when you have something right and it is always there for you in the same condition you left it when you landed it last." _

He shared her passion for flying – the freedom, emancipation – that came with power, pitch, yaw and roll.

He shared her resiliency to conform even as they both found a sense of purpose in a world defined by rules, regulations and uniforms.

He shared her need to protect those they deemed themselves responsible for; despite the fact that interpersonal relationships were their greatest failures.

He shared her love of his sons – her men, their girl – and because of her, his eyes were opening and seeing more than the soldier that was in Lee or a pre-mature death that pre-empted all his memories of Zak.

He was glad that she was in a different plane when she had her hard landing thirteen weeks ago. Not that it was a good thing to have a Viper destroyed and salvaged for scraps or witness his daughter fight for her life for days on end. If she had been in her own bird that day, he would have been denied this moment to be with her despite the fact that she was gone.

Fingers trailing over the dents inflicted by various collisions, deeply imbedded scorch marks from enemy fire that fell on the inside line of a miss, the deep knick where the wing joined the body of the plane was what gave him pause in his introspection.

_This is where she saved my son when we fled from Ragnar. _

Resting a hand on one of the gunports, he paused again.

_This is where she saved my ship – taking out two out of the three nuclear missiles launched and locked onto my Battlestar._

Breaking contact, he swept the area until he found what he was looking for – a ladder.

Bracing the ladder against her bird, he climbed up and into cockpit. The smell of soldered metal and a hint of cigar prickled his nose even as he bent his knees to accommodate his height. Funny how Starbuck never seemed shorter than him or anyone else, no matter what she was doing or whom she was doing it to. The Chief had installed a new seat into her Viper, but this was still Kara's bird and 'he' wasn't going to let her go anytime soon which explained why the Tyrol set the seat-setting where he did – the Viper told him to. The Chief also spoke Viper, but in a different dialect. Pilots had their own version of the Language of Vipers. He and Starbuck had talked about it one night, well into the night even, shortly after she joined the crew. How, if one listened and felt one's Viper, it will talk to you and tell you everything you need to know to make it home and live to launch another day. Lee felt it too, which explained why Adama had found his son keeping watch with his Mark VII in the hours before the tylium raid.

The perspective out the cockpit gave him pause.

_This was the last the last thing she saw before she ejected and saved us all._

Now, he understood why he was here.

Looking at the console, tracing the tracks of the canopy with open palms, Husker talked to Starbuck's Viper like the man the plane represented.

"I am sorry." He let those words stand on their own before explaining himself. "It's just that I cannot afford to do this any other way. I know you will understand, even if you never forgive me."

Bracing his feet against the pedals to leverage himself out of the cockpit, his foot slipped and a hastily extended hand was all that saved him from falling back down. Getting his balance, he threw one leg and then the other over the side of the cockpit and climbed back down ladder.

Sure, he had probably stepped in a smear of grease, tracked it into the plane and transferred it to the pedals and that was why his foot jutted out from underneath him.

It was that rationalization that shrank to the background as he looked at Starbuck's Viper at the same time as the word 'orphan' slid to the foreground. Turning on his heels, turning his back to the inert plane, he headed toward the phone mounted on the wall.

The same sensations of getting old, feeling infirm, being anxious and sick-at-heart filled the four fingers that curled around the handset he used to dial CIC and page the Officer of the Watch.

"Make a note in the Daily Log. Make it read that Captain Adama is to report to the CO's quarters at the start of Second Shift."

Replacing the receiver, Husker knew better than to look over his shoulder even when the sound of his own hatch closing behind him clanked into place.

He could only accept so much guilt and accusations from 'him'. Adama needed to make sure that there would be plenty of room for Lee to heap his own accusations, anger and blame when the time came.

He had about ten hours in which to find the words – that had flowed so rationally between he and Roslin over the course of the past few days – in which to tell his son that events will be set in motion in which the end result will be Kara Thrace being killed by Colonial hands.

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

The plushly cushioned chair was nice, but not necessary. Not for him, anyway. His body was used to hardship. The consideration his fellow Models showed him was truly a testament to God's grace and the peace that permeated Cylon society.

The dull glow of a view screen shadowed the more hollow planes on his face as he watched the woman on the other end of the cyber-optic feed slip into the throes of another nightmare.

Lifting a finger, careful not to smudge the screen as that would be disrespectful to the Model who next sat in his comfortable chair, he traced the outline of the increasingly restless woman.

If he chose to, he could feel remorse for what he knew she was going be experiencing – she had a pattern that hadn't faltered in weeks. But, to what end? How could he feel empathy for a woman who refused to see The Light, to accept God's love?

If Kara cannot love God, then how can he expect her to love him, as he is one of God's children?

Number Three argued that her belief in the Lords of Kobol competed for the same place in her soul that deserved to house God's Will. He let Three attempt to beat the heresy out of Kara on a regular basis.

But, his Kara is made of sterner stuff than Three originally attributed to the Colonial warrior. Starbuck took everything Three dished out and asked for more with a challenging glint to her eye even as her own blood trailed down from her back and streaked the backsides of her legs.

Leaning forward and further activating the console, he tapped out a command. Immediately the camera zoomed in and refocused.

Kara was starting to thrash.

In moments, he would hear her screaming.

Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx

It is the same nightmare that had been recurring every night for the past few days – weeks? – however long she had been on the receiving end of Three's attempts to convert her to a belief in One True God. Over and over again, it was always the same sequence of images and soul-shaking emotions.

She is in a Raider – but she is part of the Raider. There are other Raiders trailing her, spread out in a formation of her designation. She is giving chase to Colonial Vipers, shooting them down. She gets the job done. She gets lock. She gets tone. So does every single one of her Raiders. She fires – and as if in slow motion – she can see the rounds erupt from her gunports. The ammunition streaks across space and in the seconds it takes for the round to hit the Viper, she is convinced that the next thing she will see is one of her own dead by her hand; nullifying the existence she has resigned herself too and taking away the reason why she hasn't wrapped her chains around her throat. To kill her fellow man would be killing her. To kill herself would mean that the Cylons broke her. If she breaks, then all the promises that she has made herself regarding the devastation she will leave in her wake when she makes her escape will be nothing but empty words and she does not make hollow promises – not to herself, not to anyone.

That was why, when that bitch D'Anna Biers beats and stripes her, she calls on the most defiant aspect of her personality to make the wails of pain that radiate from her back stick to the back of her mouth. Just to be a bitch and snub her bloodied nose at the Cylon's attempt to break her, she makes it seem as if she was moaning in erotic pleasure and spares her breath to goad the Cylon instead of giving into the excruciating pain and asking them to stop hurting her. It's also the reason she can, during particularly nasty sessions with the other blond Cylon, pray for and accept Athena's gift of calmness, enabling her to just hang there and do nothing to detract from the sound of the whip welting and biting into her body.

As the rounds hit the Viper, her dreams meld with the memories born in an altered reality and the Viper hangs dead in the vacuum of space. Others limp out of the immediate combat zone even as she corrals her squadron of Raiders and makes ready for another pass. She does not – she cannot – let up until the Fleet jumps away.

It is the paradox that tears at her soul and sears her throat. Despite commanding a pack of Raiders, she still identifies with the Vipers as needing her protection and skills.

She is screaming in her sleep by the time the second Viper is hit. She is screaming at it to get out of the way while a second breath gives her air to growl at the Colonial fighter like the enemy it reads on her radar.

Her nightmare always ends the same way: the Galactica jumps and she is not with them. That is when her screams become cries. It is her cries that jolt her awake just in time to keep the tears that crowded her eyelashes locked in her ducts for one more sleep cycle.

Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx

Running his calloused hand through his sweat-soaked hair only made it spike in every direction.

Coming off CAP, Captain Adama handed his post-flight checklist off to the nearest Specialist and scoped the deck.

The latest tangle with the Cylons left the condition of his Air Group in an even more challenging state. Two more birds and a Raptor had been towed in and placed along side the other eight planes still waiting on being repaired and decreed flight worthy.

Stepping down the ladder and finding his footing on the deck, Captain Adama spied Tyrol in an animated conversation with Jammer. Catching only a word here and there, the Chief was explaining where the deckhand could find more sheet metal to begin re-plating body damage on a number of downed Vipers. The decision to have a conversation with the Chief of the Deck – sooner than later – had him crossing the hanger bay and stopping three feet from Tyrol's elbow.

"Chief – a moment of your time when you're clear," Captain Adama masked his command with a barely-there statement.

"Sure, Captain. Jammer here is going to go to the nearest supply closet and pick out a new brain because the one he has isn't working properly." The Chief's blatant insult carried a barely-there dismissal.

Not caring which brain Jammer thought with as long as it possessed the knowledge to repair Raptors and Vipers, Captain Adama locked his eyes on Tyrol.

"Talk to me, Chief. Tell me what we're looking at and what it will take for you to sort it all out."

"Sir – the Cylons are kicking our asses. This latest trend of 'damage only' is worse than if the birds were destroyed altogether. I have three teams – Scrounge, Manufacture and Fabricate – working around the clock just to try to keep up with all the repairs, parts and general grunt-monkeying that comes with working the Deck." The way the Chief pointed at invisible people, groups and Viper parts was all secondary to what Captain Adama was asking. "My crews are exhausted, Captain. You and I need to work out a way to solve that."

Captain Adama read between the lines: _you are the CAG, you take care of this_. But, he let it go – for now. Surveying the damage, he needed the Chief on the deck more than the man needed to understand that thinly veiled insubordination could lead to hack-time. He did agree with the huskier man on one point though – something was up with the way Cylons now did battle. There were a lot of pilots injured, others awaiting the 'all clear' from Cottle. Every bird made it back to the barn. The difference between a crippled craft coming in on its own power or towed in by SAR was little to none. Each option was as likely as the other. But, in the last couple of weeks, there had not been any deaths.

_Frak!_ If Starbuck were here, she would be the one to make sure this kind of stuff didn't even show up on his radar. She would give him the numbers, an estimated time frame until repairs could be completed and meet that deadline. He and the Chief should be commiserating rather than trading barbs over the fact that they were overworked and understaffed. Ingratiating herself as a buffer between command and the knuckle-draggers was something he was only just now realizing she did for him to make his – and the Chief's – life easier and rough-graded the relationship between he and Tyrol.

He liked the Chief, if the truth were told. The man was loyal, smart, made a great home brew, could talk to a machine and make it tell him 'where it hurt' and 'how to make it better'. More than that though, Starbuck trusted him enough to fix her Viper when she was not able to and enjoyed his company during their off-duty hours. Considering his next words, he knew the look on Tyrol's face would be payment for having to listen to the other man's piss-poor attitude.

"Chief – a word of advice as it pertains to our current state." Captain Adama put a sharp edge to his words as he levelled a scathing look at the Chief of the Deck. "Be grateful that you have the time to manage your people and not spending the same amount of time buttoning up your brass and attending another bodiless memorial surface."

Lee's mouth opened his mouth to add a post-script to his 'advice' but it was Dualla's voice that echoed off the bulkheads and reverberated off the steel girders.

"Attention all hands: pass the word to Captain Adama to report to the CO's quarters. Repeat: pass the word to Captain Adama to report to the CO's quarters."

Turning on his heel and making his way towards his office to collect the reports he knew his father was waiting on, the parting shot that had been resting on his tongue was swallowed. The Chief had already moved on; Cally had pulled him away to evaluate a Raptor that was being taxied across the deck during the precious few seconds it took for Captain Adama to listen to his summons.

A quick shower and a quicker exchange of a sweaty flight suit for his blues saw his shoes barely tied as he set out to see the Old Man.

Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx

The knock on the door of his father's quarters was perfunctory. Shifting the file folders from a casual grip to being able to present them in a more formal fashion, Lee made his way to the large desk behind which his father sat intently reviewing the papers in front of him.

Offering the folders but not finding an out-stretched hand to accept them, Lee thought that maybe the Commander needed a reminder as to what he carried.

"Here is the breakdown of what we will need to maintain minimal-safe patrols along with projections about – "

His father cut him off in mid-explanation.

"Sit down, Lee." Adama's head was still bowed. Lee saw that his glasses were resting on the desk, not perched on his nose. Whatever his father was looking at, Adama knew it well enough to brief him without having to read it. "We need to talk."

His father's voice was grim and determined. That alone was enough to have him reach for the chair sitting kitty-corner from the desk and drag it forward.

Settled, he knew that what ever the Commander had to say was going to affect a lot of people on a lot of levels – which explained why he was summoned to a formal meeting but greeted with his first name.

"President Roslin and I have been talking for a while now about the possibility of black-op." Adama lifted his head and threaded his fingers.

The temptation to ask his father what he was talking about bloomed and died as the Commander continued.

"The purpose of which is to recover Starbuck."

Temptation died and guarded hope resurrected in its ashes.

"Are you serious? There are seventeen FTL jumps between where we were when we lost her and where we are now. I know – I have been pouring over the star-charts for weeks now, just trying to do the very thing you just so blithely declared." He heard the accusation level in his voice rise but didn't bother to check it. Some part of him did harbour resentment over the fact that his father didn't scramble every available resource to go out and bring back the woman he considered family. Another part of him – the pilot and the tactician – felt the tingle of opportunity to take back what was his.

Adama let Lee's tone slide over him without reproach. He knew this was coming and steeled himself accordingly, which was why he was able to continue the briefing. He didn't have it in him to give Lee enough rope to strangle his heart.

"It's not like that, son."

Seeing Lee look taken back made him reach for some papers just to shuffle them around as he sought the words he needed.

"Every time I see her eject, every time you launch without her as your wingman, every time I sense someone running in the corridors and it isn't her, I feel it here," Adama tapped his chest. "And here," Adama rung each hand in turn. "And here," Adama pointed to the pictures on the side table; interspersed among the frames protecting images of Caroline, Lee, Zak and Anne were three pictures – one each of Kara, Starbuck and Captain Thrace. "I won't pretend to know your pain, Lee, but I do know my own."

The truth of Adama's feelings for Kara didn't hide the fact that the Old Man was buying time, stalling. His father was worse than he was at expressing his emotions. His father was a military man through-and-through. The Commander was setting him up for something and was taking the long way to get there. That sparked his temper and grated against his sense of professionalism.

"We have already done this – remember? You reminded me that I didn't have the cornerstone on grief." Shackling the bitter words that bubbled up from the wound his father picked at, he centred himself and levelled his gaze at a square inch of wall just to the left of the older man's shoulder. "What have you and the President really been discussing?"

Adama accepted Lee's blame and let it pool around his feet and rise as high as his knees. He would be wading through it for years to come as it had the possibility of becoming the only connection he would have with Lee once his son fully accepted what it was he was going to be asked to do and achieve.

"I have been over the footage and at no point in time is there any indication that the Cylons jettisoned Starbuck's ejection seat. That leads me to believe that they still have it." Adama explained. "You know, as well as I do, that the power cell on the transponder signal has a six month window barring it being tampered with or irrevocably damaged. We find the chair, most likely we find her. At the very least, we find the Cylons who had her last and track her from there."

"Why, Dad? Why now? Why after all this time are we doing this now?" Lee needed answers RFN.

"Because the President reminded me of something that I had forgotten up until a week ago, Lee," Adama admitted.

"Oh yeah – and what was that?"

The sneer in his son's voice was unmistakable, which was why Adama kept his tone as even and as neutral as his reason hit the desktop.

"That Kara knows the way to Earth."

Hearing his father's words was like a concussion grenade detonating in the office. Suddenly, Lee could not hear anything beyond a roaring in his ears. As it was, he had to fight to tune out the thudding of his heart and focus on the words still streaming from the Commander's lips.

"She was there with us in the Tomb of Athena. She knows the constellations that point the way to the last known outpost of mankind and she was the one to point out that we were standing on Earth, in that circle of standing stones, when President Roslin ticked off the ancient names of the twelve tribes."

"So the President and you want to mount a recovery mission…" Lee heard his voice trail off even as the full realization of the 'recovery' congealed his blood. He was trained to rescue a pilot in the same way he was trained to recover a body.

Erupting from his chair, Lee exploded at his father. "There is NO WAY the Cylons know that!"

Lee knew he was out of line challenging a superior officer but he could not control himself. Not over this, not with what his father was going to do, and especially in the wake of it carrying the President's 'seal of approval'.

"You want to use the stealth ship to track the Cylons, to find out where Kara is, feed back the co-ordinates so that you can jump in-system, blow where ever the hell she is to Hades, taking her with them in the process and get out again before the wreckage has even burned itself out – don't you?!" Lee hurled his words at the man sitting behind the desk as he spelled out how the op would play out.

Changing his tone of voice, he figured it was time someone reminded the Old Man what the definition of loyalty meant.

"Kara gave up her life to save us, to make sure we made it to Earth. And this is how we re-pay her? By taking a chance on getting us killed based in the fear of a remote possibility that a suspicion might be speculated in which case the Cylons will, in turn, think she knows how to get to Earth?"

"Starbuck knew her life was over the second she struck that accord with Caster." Adama reminded his CAG.

"Cast-or," Lee reflexively corrected his commander.

Ignoring Lee's side comment, Adama laid out his justifications.

"We cannot take the chance of leading the Cylons to Earth. It is an unacceptable risk, Captain."

"Unacceptable, huh? Those are HER words, Commander – NOT yours!" An echo of a previous encounter – ironically that 'conversation' was about the rescue operation mounted over Starbuck as well – with Madam President resonated between the two men.

"Do you want to 'make it a numbers' game', Captain?" Adama retorted and regret flashed across his face as soon as he threw an on-going subject of guilt he knew his son still wrestled with at the younger man. "Starbuck knew what she was doing. We're just completing her mission."

"I'd say it was a case of over-kill, Commander. Seeing as how her 'mission' is already complete since you and I are here, drawing breath, and not floating free as radio-active cosmic dust. One life exchanged for the lives of many isn't good enough for you, is it? You are going to dispatch someone to recover 'viable intelligence', right?" Lee was lethally calm and venomous. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I need you to plan it, Lee."

Never had Lee ever fought the urge to tell his father to go frak himself before this very moment.

"No. Frakking. Way."

"You can, and you will. Because once you stop and think about it, the guilt you carry from destroying the Olympic Carrier will never come close to the level you will blame yourself if an entire planet – innocent of the crime of creating Cylons in the first place – falls victim to the same level of annihilation as the home worlds we left behind."

Standing up, done with this meeting, the need to get out of the office was overwhelming.

Lee glared at the man who sat so calmly behind his desk, who spoke so rationally about something so unfathomable, and actually had nothing to say to counter his arguments.

That didn't mean he didn't have something to say to his father.

"Yeah, Dad – what ever you need to let yourself sleep at night that doesn't come in the form of a pill or liquor bottle."

Snapping off a salute that was as derogatory as it was perfunctory; Captain Adama turned on his heel and stalked away without waiting to be dismissed.

Three feet from the hatch, the sound of something shattering against the wall of the Commander's quarters only gave him more reason to keep walking.

Riding the adrenaline spike just a little longer had him cursing at someone else.

_And frak you, Starbuck – why does everything have to go to hell every time you pull a stunt like this?_

Immediately apologizing as his feet ate up corridor after corridor of decking, he sighed.

She had waited too long to let them find her and bring her home – now it _was_ too late.

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg


	13. Chapter 13: of Valour Part Two

**Another Way: Chapter 13**

**The Back Side of Valour: Part Two**

It took him all of five minutes to realize that his office was the last place he wanted to be.

The silence was screaming in his ears. The walls were crowding his desk. His mind had started mapping out the black op his father had told him to plan – despite telling the Old Man to go frak himself. Maybe not in so many words but his context made it near enough to call it done.

He had to get out of there.

He needed to disappear for a while.

Tough challenge when onboard a ship with two thousand other crew members and no opportunity for shore leave. But he was still on the clock. He had to be accessible at a moment's notice should anything come up. That meant seeking sanctuary in one of the more remote holds of the ship was out of the question.

Closing the hatch to the CAG's office, he started down the hall. Mentally running down his list of options, one suddenly made perfect sense.

Sometimes the best hiding places were those that were in plain sight.

Xxx Bsg Xxx

Slipping into the Ready Room and being seen by only one person was easy. Especially since that person was Helo and that was because he had gotten up to throw away a lollipop wrapper at the same time Lee opened the door. Exchanging nods, Lee added an extra head movement that asked Karl not to let on that he was there. A brief hand signal from Helo conveyed that the E.C.O never saw Lee enter the room.

Grateful for Helo's quick up-take, he settled into one of the seats in the far corner.

There were only a handful of people in the room and all of them had their focus on the screen and the images playing against the white backdrop.

Squinting his eyes, trying to place what he was watching and where it came from, Lee caught Helo's eyes one more time and mouthed the word, "Who?"

Helo mouthed back the name of the person Lee needed as he sank his six-foot-three frame into the chair. "Gaeta."

Tapping his head against the backrest of his seat, Lee remembered Kara approaching Gaeta with an idea.

She had acquired hours of videotapes and digital recordings and asked him if he could make a series of training tapes for her to use with her nuggets. Footage was supplied by cameras mounted on Vipers and Raptors, and other vessels that had recording capabilities who were willing to tape CAP runs when the Colonial fighters cruised by the civilian ships. He knew Gaeta had been close to finishing his project for Kara because she had laughed about it while she was in sickbay as she was recovering from her hard landing. Gaeta had told her that he had even made her a 'blooper' reel, of sorts. He remembered watching her, trying to imitate Gaeta's mannerisms – in a completely non-derogatory-steeped-in-fondness kind of way – as she shared that Gaeta alluded to some really great moments on those tapes that he just could not bear deleting and that she would recognize them when she saw them and that she would thank him for it when she did watch the bonus reel.

If it took him a moment to place what he was seeing, it was another moment before he registered what he was hearing.

It was them – flying a CAP. Her voice, his voice, their banter; it was the bonus reel that was playing up on the screen. Someone, somewhere, must have gotten a hold of it and decided that it was worthy of being played for the entire Air Group; or at least those who could bear watching it despite the 'star' of the film being classified as Missing in Action and Prisoner of War.

This is what he needed. Memories of Starbuck as Starbuck – not the litanies of 'would have', 'could have' and 'should have' that echoed in his mind whenever he poured over the footage that ended in her surrender.

What he didn't need was a time and date stamp to remember when this particular patrol took place.

Watching the screen, listening to their voices, he slid down into his seat and let the memory be the escape he so desperately needed.

Xxx Xxx Xxx

"Has anyone ever told you that you are such a brat, Starbuck?" Lee asked over the comms.

"You know, Apollo – for some reason I get that a lot." Starbuck's wide smile transmitted across the wireless as clearly as her words did. "But I don't know why." She was laughing at herself at the same time as playing along with him. "If you don't think you can do it, who am I to push you into an embarrassing situation?"

"Need I remind you that reverse psychology will get you nowhere with me? As for your pathetic attempt to 'shield my ego' – please! You embarrass me every chance you get." Lee made sure his indignation was more hollow than solid.

"Yeah – you're right – I do. But can you blame me? You blush like a girl!" Starbuck justified herself – at his expense. "It just makes me want to put pink and purple streamers on your precious Mark Seven and draw heart-shaped flowers on the roof your bunk."

"Starbuck – you do that and I'll make sure you live to regret even thinking about messing with my Viper or frakking with my rack," Lee promised. The edge to his voice made it seem like he was challenging her to do something like that just so he could try and top what she did to him as he got back at her.

"Well if you would just do what I tell you to do then we wouldn't have this problem now, would we?" Starbuck countered, picking up the more-mitten-than-gauntlet that Lee threw down.

"That was smooth, Starbuck – turning this around and back to what you want. And what is it with this 'we' business? Here I am, flying my CAP, guarding the Fleet, and you have to go and get all rowdy. You never stop, do you?" Lee didn't bother to keep the amusement out his voice.

"Apollo – you would be the first one to be disappointed if I did." Starbuck laughed. "And you are SO far from being innocent, Apollo – just 'flying your CAP'. Nice one – that and a duffle bag full of Helo's lollipops will get you a cavity." He could hear her eyes rolling. Switching up her tactics, she completely changed her tone of voice guaranteed to make him consider caving into her latest scheme. "But seriously – come on, Lee. What have you got to lose? We have three more hours and my gut is telling me that we are in a Cylon-free zone."

"Oh Gods, not the whining; you promised that I could have one CAP without you delving into your storehouse of Pyramid metaphors or whining." Lee winced in self-preservation. She could do it too – make every word, every phrase, every sentence come out as a whine. His ears would be clawed off his head and stuffed into his helmet by the time they got back to Galactica if she whined for the next three hours. "Starbuck, speaking as your CAG, friend and fellow human being, I really think I look better with ears than without them."

"And speaking as your Flight Instructor, you doing a few simple manoeuvres for the sake of my nuggets isn't asking too much." Starbuck countered.

"But I haven't had to do those since Basic Flight." Lee got her back by steeping every word in a pitiful, petulant child-like whine.

"That is playing dirty, Captain." Starbuck grimaced but she knew she deserved it. "Come on, Lee. It will be fun. I'll even make it worth your while," she promised.

"Oh yeah?" Lee asked. His curiosity was piqued, "How's that?"

"I'll let you beat me tonight at the Triad game," she offered.

"What did you say? I couldn't quite make that out over the sound of you thumping your own chest." It was his turn at the caustic come-back.

"Not bad, not bad, Apollo – you're getting better. Still playing for the minors, but you're on your way." Starbuck cut his jibe with one of her own.

There was no way Lee was going to let her get away with that crack.

"In your dreams, Starbuck," Lee clarified the only place he played in the minors. Going back to her 'offer', he ragged on her a little more. "I can beat you anyway. You'll have to do better than that, Lieutenant."

"No you can't. Maybe it's when _you're_ dreaming, Captain, is when you beat me," she scoffed good-naturedly. "Hmmm…. Let's see."

"Tick-tock, Starbuck," Lee couldn't resist goading her.

"Give a girl a chance to think, will ya?" Starbuck quipped back.

"Woman, Starbuck – you are definitely one-hundred percent woman. As to whether or not you've got a brain to think with, that has yet to be decided. I think Tigh is chairing that committee." Lee made sure his second sentence sounded as dubious as his first sentence was complimentary. His third sentence was just something he couldn't resist adding.

"Nice try, Apollo. Is this how you handle all your women?" Starbuck poked fun at at his latest attempt to distract her from making him do what she wanted him to do.

"You know how it is, Starbuck. Those who can – do. Those who can't – teach." Lee jabbed at his best friend with a one-two combination that had them both laughing.

"Frak you, Apollo," she was still laughing. She thumped her canopy as she realized he finally topped her for once. "Frak; that was a good one Apollo."

Banking around The Intrepid and cutting between the mining ship and the Aerilon Maiden, he could hear her drumming her fingers against her throttle even as she unconsciously adjusted her position when he dropped back and took formation behind her and she slid into the lead position It felt good not to have to spell out everything with a command like he did with other pilots or have to be the leader all the time.

"How about this – what if I give you one of your birthday presents early?" Starbuck dangled the proverbial treat in front of his inner five-year old.

"Now who's playing dirty, Lieutenant?" That was just evil, offering up not only the fact that she remembered when his birthday was but that she also got him not one, but more than one present. And, she also knew how much he liked presents. Frak, she was right. He was part girl. "Damn, Starbuck – you're right. I am part girl."

Exaggerated thumping of his flight gloved hand against his canopy had Starbuck salvaging his masculinity.

"No Apollo – I would definitely say that you are one-hundred percent, premium grade, send-a-thank-you-note-to-your-mama-for-bearing-a-child-like-you, MAN. The only thing that's girly about you is that you're prettier than most of the women in this Fleet."

"And the award for slinging the most back-handed compliment – or insult, depending on your point of view – in one war goes too…" Leaving out the name 'Starbuck' from his sentence didn't mean he was talking about anyone else.

"Want me to start whining again? Because – you know – I will." Starbuck threatened. Just to prove her point, she started. "Lee-eee…"

Coming up on her six, Lee put the plan that had been forming in head into action.

"Stop – don't even go there, Starbuck." Lee took his hand off his throttle and crooked both elbows in exasperation. "I say we settle this like adults."

"Oh yeah – and how do you propose we do that Apollo?" Starbuck asked. It was her turn to have her curiosity piqued.

Coming up very close to her Viper, Lee looked over at her and made eye contact.

"Frak, Apollo – watch what you're doing!" Starbuck admonished, but it was too little, too late.

"Tag! You're it!" Lee whooped, touched his wing to her fuselage and then kicked in his burners.

"You frakker! Just wait until I get my frakking hands on you –"

Her playful growl told him how much fun they were going to have.

Cutting her off in mid-sentence, he fired back, "Now Starbuck, you of all people should know you can't frak what you can't catch!"

Up and down the Fleet they flew – tagging each other with their planes, giving as well as they got. Weaving, bobbing, and tricking the other into rolling, tumbling, setting up plays so that the 'tag' got passed back and forth with a dizzying frequency.

At one point, she ran her tail fin along the entire underside of his bird, causing sparks along his length but not causing any damage.

"See Apollo – the secret to having teeth is knowing how to use them."

Not to be out done, he 'kissed' the nose of her Viper with the back end of his Mark VII, hit his turbos and called out to his wingman.

"Starbuck, it's about time you kissed my ass!"

Watching her catch up to him, spinning as she pulled up directly underneath his Viper, he turned off his brain and let instinct rule the hand wrapped around the throttle and manipulate the pedals underneath his feet. He felt, rather than saw, that she was inverted, that the bellies of their two planes were facing one another when he let his Viper reach out and 'connect' with hers.

Drawing her into a vertical climb, he started to spin, making them spiral around each other higher and higher – in perfect synch – as she followed his lead. At the same time, they tacked and changed from a vertical axis to a horizontal vector, levelling off but never breaking the grace, power, speed or precision of the spiralling they were wrapping around each other.

The gasps from those in the Ready Room pulled him from his reverie and jolted him into the present.

Watching the horizontal spiral, it looked like the two Vipers were out of control, spinning around each other, combustion eminent. That is, until realization set in that it wasn't lack of control that was causing the ships to tumble and roll, but the kind of control that comes along once in ten-thousand pilots and that there were two pilots, who didn't have to communicate with words, doing what they did just because they could.

It was breath-taking to watch. It was dangerous to show the nuggets because there was no way any of them would be able to do what they were seeing. Hell, he was seeing something he was having trouble believing and he was there. It was also erotic. It was like watching lovers come together only to demand that the other person give everything they had in order to accept everything the other person had to offer.

He shifted in his seat as he watched their play-time transcend to a different level. Everyone felt it. It was clear why Gaeta kept this footage and spliced it together the way he did.

They were still matching each other, tumble for roll, but they were running out of room. The front of the Fleet was approaching, the point where they would have to stop and turn around. But neither one of them wanted too. He knew he didn't and the fact that she gave any indication that she was ready to stop never came over the comms. In fact all that was heard was the powerful drone of their burners. The primal thrum that reverberated in the Ready Room came from the two pilots known as Starbuck and Apollo.

He never heard her call it out, but then again, he didn't need too. She started to bank to the left and he followed even as they continued to twist around each other. This was by far the most dangerous, exhilarating, challenging aspect of their Viper-frakking. One wrong move, one miscalculation, one variation in speed as they pushed the depth of the turn and took on the new vector would send them ploughing into each other and ricocheting across half the ships in the Fleet.

But this was Starbuck and Apollo. This was Lee and Kara. This was them. This was the epitome of poetry in motion, the beauty found in a time of war and the public display of the depths of the passions that ran between their two souls.

Banking left, recovering the gap that stretched between them and the Fleet, and decelerating, it took five more revolutions for them to slow enough to fire their thrusters and coast.

Looking at the screen, his memory and the image merged.

They had stopped, for the most part. Their engines weren't glowing with the brightness that came with flying at maximum velocity and they were coasting on the momentum they had accumulated. Why CIC hadn't hailed them to stop before now hadn't even entered his mind. All he knew was that he was looking up as she was inverted, flying over him, matching him wing-for-fuselage, breathing just as heavy as he was, and sweat gleaming in the glow of her lighted helmet. Beads of moisture seeped past his collar and made his flight suit suction to his entire body. Looking up at her, her canopy feet away, the way endorphins were coursing through his blood system and making every part of him tingle and throb had him convinced that he came in mid-flight. The look on her face was what he always imagined a well-frakked Starbuck would look like: slightly smug, a little bit dazed, pupils dilated, cheeks tinged with colour, hair damp with exertion, still panting and looking for more.

Thank the Gods the tape did not show their faces – only their Vipers.

It was her voice, punctuated by her drawing breaths into lungs strained from exertion, which echoed around the awe-struck room.

"So Apollo – tell me – when was the last time you had someone on top ride with you so well?"

"Never." His declaration was raspy with laboured breathing that came after a hard workout. His heart-rate and respirations had yet to come down even as he looked up at her flying over him, upside-down. "I hadn't found anyone worthy of the position before now, Starbuck."

He was her match, right down to the panting, double entendre and the truth that stripped away the veneer they both spent their lives polishing to a high finish.

Her verbal Starbuck smirk and his Apollo-channelled cavalier-ness broke the spell their flying invoked in the Ready Room. A spattering of applause and a couple of well-whistled wolf calls permanently cemented – Apollo and Starbuck – their place at the top of the pilot hierarchy.

It was also what drove him from the room. It wasn't what she said nor was it blatant connotation in his response; it was what they represented that he will never have again with anyone, ever again.

Watching them fly together was a poor substitute for the real thing. There could be a hundred Vipers in the air, all identical to the one she would be flying, but the instant he put his bird into the fray he knew he would find her. Her flight signature just 'clicked' with his to the extent that they would inevitably be drawn to one another. It was something that could not be defined with words; it was something that happened between Starbuck and Apollo that transcended where ever Lee and Kara stood with each other.

Lurching out of the room, the temptation to draw up against the cold steel of the Battlestar to steady himself was a real consideration. That is, until a wave of nausea clenched his stomach and squeezed hard.

Walking as quickly as he could, he made it to the nearest head and jerked open the hatch. Bolting for the nearest stall, the clanking of the privacy latch falling into place was the only thing he heard before the harsh bite of bile chewed at his throat and ate at his gums. Gagging into the commode, bracing his arms at full length, it was all he could do to keep from falling over as his knees buckled.

A fresh wave of body wracking bucking followed a cruel realization.

His father was right.

The Cylons could chase them all the way to Earth, but now they didn't have to because they had Kara. Everything the Fleet had survived, hardships endured, would be in vain if the forty-eight thousand people who fled twelve separate nuclear wastelands discovered that their one hope mirrored the desolation they left behind.

Shaking arms, trembling chin and an overall clamminess wasn't enough. His guilt over treating his father so badly and the extent that his thoughts were now travelling, especially in the wake of seeing – firsthand – something he will never have again, seized his body. One more realization made his stomach heave one more time.

If the Fleet were to survive – if mankind were to survive – whatever stronghold or ship Kara was being held captive within would have to be destroyed. And she would have to be included in that devastation.

Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx

Adama was not comfortable with his hand, but it was the only card he had to play.

Looking at the only other individual in his quarters, he steeled himself to ask the one question he never thought he would ask.

"Do you understand the mission?"

"Completely." The answer was neither cocky nor hesitant. It was matter of fact and solid; that understanding made it the truth.

Satisfied for no other reason than he believed the word spoken, he went to the hatch and swung the door open. Motioning to the pair of MP's standing watch, he stepped back and let the two officers escort Sharon Valerii out of his office and back to her holding cell.

He found himself murmuring familiar words at the retreating back of the Cylon.

"Good hunting."

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

"Don't you dare!"

"I won't let you!"

"Let me go!"

"I will frakking kill ALL of you if it is the last thing I do!"

She was fighting them – again.

Where she got the energy to kick, scream, holler and struggle amazed him. In a way, her defiance was an honour that deserved its own special reverence despite it being an exercise in futility. The Centurions that held her bindings could not be pried with human hands. What she was going to be made to do was not going to be denied, even if she was physically weakened by Three's latest attempt to convert his Persephone.

He stood back and watched as she was forcibly stripped of her clothes and pressed into the apparatus. He kept his expression neutral – after all, this had nothing to do with him, she chose this path, not him – as the electrodes pierced her flesh and the contents of several syringes were fed into her bloodstream. From the floor rose the perimeter of her immersion tank.

"Stop it!"

"You will so regret this."

"You can't make me…"

"I won't… let… you… do… thisss… to… them…"

Her protests became more sporadic as each chemical compound took effect and electrical impulses over-rode and re-routed her nervous system. Her mouth movements became less pronounced as her connection became more complete.

Only when her fingers stopped trying to reach her restraints did he approach her – only when the glow of her humanity waned in her eyes did he look down at her and speak.

"Kara. You fight when you should love. Now we need someone who lives to fight."

Lifting his gaze to where Simon stood, the darker skinned Model answered, "She is just about ready."

Brushing her hair off her forehead, her nakedness lying in her vulnerability not in her lack of apparel, he gently chided her like an errant child that had to be punished for their own good.

"I told you Starbuck might have a role to play in God's Plan."

At that, Kara's body went tense. Her muscles locked. Her eyes snapped open and her lids went wide. Whatever she was looking at was not in that room. The vat began to fill with a thick, viscous fluid. Gallon after gallon flowed into the tank, rising over and covering length of her reclined body, including her ears. The valves were turned off when the warrior was completely submerged. The oval of her face, luminous in the frame of her bath, was the only part of her that floated above the fluid-line.

Gliding his hands along the sides of the tank, Zak walked away from Kara and pressed a button on the console linking the room to the command centre.

"Launch the Raiders."

Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx

The Cylons had found them.

Again.

The call for Alert Fighters to be scrambled had pilots and E.C.O.'s racing to their ships and taking their cues from Cally as to who was launching in what sequence to defend the Fleet and see that everyone jumped to safety.

Bsg Xxx Bsg

Standing in CIC, Captain Adama was stoic. This was not the first time he wasn't on the launch deck when Raiders jumped in-system and it wouldn't be the last.

Co-ordinating with the Commander and calmly handing out orders as to how to best protect the Fleet and the fighters in the air, he silently ticked off which of his pilots would be going against the incoming Raiders as Alert Vipers appeared on the radar.

Looking up at the DRAEDIS console, there was something odd about how the signals were lining up on the display screen. Something he knew he could figure out if he had more time to sort through the intel.

Flicking his gaze from the overhead screen to Captain Kelly, he issued an order that did not need the Commander's approval.

"Spread the word through-out the Fleet that any ship with recording capability and line-of-sight is to tape whatever they can before jumping away. All footage is to be sealed and expedited to Galactica for analysis and processing once all vessels have re-convened at the rendezvous point."

"Aye, aye, Sir," Captain Kelly acknowledged the command and sent Captain Adama's missive.

Xxx Bsg Xxx

"Ready, Chief."

The words were a statement, not a question or an answer.

Pulling the canopy into place and verifying that the seals were secure, Tyrol climbed down off the access ladder. Dragging it with him only to set it against the wall just outside where the safety shield would come down from the ceiling and separate the airlock from venting the Battlestar, he hit the oversized red button.

Warning lights flashed as the seal fell, separating himself from the pilot inside the Blackbird as the blackness of space yawned beyond the tailfins.

Pulling a remote control from his pocket, he made contact with Sharon one last time before remote triggering the chucks that braced the stealth ship against the makeshift ramp where 'she' rested. Pressing a second button activated the hydraulics, raising the nose of the craft to an angle that passed the responsibility of launching the plane to gravity.

Sharon's nod of acknowledgement lasted as long as it took for 'Laura' to free-fall into space and kick on 'her' burners.

For all her sins and all that 'she' represented, Galen didn't know who he prayed for when he cast a plea to the Gods that, for once, whatever had happened before did not happen again.

Xxx Bsg Xxx

Coming out of a FTL jump, the BaseStar saw the Fleet arrayed in front of them and accessible on almost any attack trajectory they chose to deploy.

Simon moved away from the banks of instrument panels and cascading waterfalls that streamed information across the BaseStar and looked down at the blond woman who understood her place in the Cylon manifesto. Scrutinizing the woman closely, he was satisfied when he saw only the faintest traces of Kara and Captain Thrace flitting around the edges of her face. With anticipation, he verified her status with Number Two, that the bio-computer-mechanical connection between the warrior and the Raiders had achieved complete interface.

Crouching down and bringing his mouth even to where the fluid lapped against her hairline, Zak spoke to the Instrument God gave him. The prophesy alluded to the one who, having experienced all suffering mankind can afflict on its brothers and sisters, would bring the Grace of God to Humanity. During his seclusion, the Leoben Model had made convincing arguments that love and inter-species procreation was the only way to secure the future of the Cylon race, to push their evolution to the next level. He did not understand, like Zak did, that God had made the Cylons in His image through Humanity's Hands. The Cylons were exactly as they were meant to be, no more – no less. To believe so otherwise would be committing the ultimate sin which could lead to his people being expelled from their Eden and scattered like the humans who knew only war, pain, grief and jealousy: vanity. No. The Grace of God is the peace that He passes to those who entrust themselves into His love and care. The only way to bring that peace to mankind is the deliver them unto God, lifted up on the victories made in His name, on the Wings of a Broken Dove.

"Move all fighters into position, Starbuck. You have the board."

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg


	14. Chapter 14: Bankability

**Another Way: Chapter 14**

**BANKABILITY**

The Cylons had found them.

Again.

The call for Alert Fighters to be scrambled had pilots and E.C.O.'s racing to their ships and taking their cues from Cally as to who was launching in what sequence to defend the Fleet and see that everyone jumped to safety.

Bsg Xxx Bsg

Standing in CIC, Captain Adama was stoic. This was not the first time he wasn't on the launch deck when Raiders jumped in-system and it wouldn't be the last.

Flicking his gaze from the overhead screen to Captain Kelly, Lee issued an order that didn't need the Commander's approval.

"Spread the word through-out the Fleet that any ship with recording capability and line-of-sight is to tape whatever they can before jumping away. All footage is to be sealed and expedited to Galactica for analysis and processing once all vessels have re-convened at the rendezvous point."

Xxx Bsg Xxx

"Ready, Chief."

The words were a statement, not a question or an answer.

Warning lights flashed as the seal fell, separating himself from the pilot inside the Blackbird as the blackness of space yawned beyond the tailfins.

Pulling a remote control from his pocket, he made eye contact with Sharon one last time before remote triggering the release chucks that braced the stealth ship against the makeshift ramp where 'Laura' rested. Pressing a second button activated the hydraulic lift, raising the nose of the craft to an angle that passed the responsibility of launching the plane to gravity.

Sharon's nod of acknowledgement lasted as long as it took for 'Laura' to free-fall into space and kick on 'her' burners.

Xxx Bsg Xxx

Coming out of a FTL jump, the BaseStar saw the Fleet arrayed in front of them and accessible on almost any attack trajectory they chose to deploy.

Crouching down and bringing his mouth even to where the fluid lapped against her hairline, Zak spoke to the Instrument God gave him. The prophecy alluded to the one who, having experienced all suffering mankind can afflict on its brothers and sisters, would bring the Grace of God to Humanity. During his seclusion, the Leoben Model had made convincing arguments that love and inter-species procreation was the only way to secure the future of the Cylon race, to push their evolution to the next level. He did not understand, like Zak did, that God had made the Cylons in His image through Humanity's Hands. The Cylons were exactly as they were meant to be, no more – no less. To believe so otherwise would be committing the ultimate sin which could lead to his people being expelled from their Eden and scattered like the humans who knew only war, pain, grief and jealousy: vanity. No. The Grace of God is the peace that He passes to those who entrust themselves into His love and care. The only way to bring that peace to mankind is the deliver them unto God, lifted up on the victories made in His name, on the Wings of a Broken Dove.

"Move all fighters into position, Starbuck. You have the board."

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

"Sirs; Flight Deck reports that all Alert Fighters are in the air." Dee's fingers pressed against her headset as even more information was relayed. "SAR is also in position and confirms readiness."

"Captain Adama – you're to tell your pilots that they're not to cross the recovery line." Adama's eyes stayed fixed on the radar scopes as he watched two stacks of six Raiders, each trailed by a separate pair of Raiders – moving as one and coming in behind the two sets of six – closed in on the Fleet. "Mr. Gaeta, start the calculations for an emergency jump."

Adjusting the mouthpiece on his headset, Lee waited for the almost imperceptible nod from Dee – telling him that he was now connected to the fighters in the air – before relaying the command. "All craft – you are to stay in the yard. Repeat. Fire at will but do not go out into the street."

"Affirmative, Galactica." Coda answered for the pilots who had been scrambled into action. Speaking to the whole air group, he conveyed their orders. "Stick close to home people; weapons free."

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

It was a proverbial mine field.

Colonial fighters, Cylon Raiders, munitions rounds, pieces of ships and vessels waiting for jump co-ordinates filled the expanse of space between where she was and where she needed to go.

Being inside a stealth ship meant that no one could see her to get out if her way, and she couldn't tell anyone she was there so that they could stay out of her flight path.

There was going to be only one way to this: hard and fast.

A fresh grip on the throttle, a firm leg pressed against the pedals and a ramrod straight posture were the only allowances she made before ploughing into the fray.

Sharon thought about saying a prayer, but a glancing blow from a decimated Raider off her port side chased all words not having to do with keeping her bird on the planned trajectory out of her mind.

The sensation of all eyes suddenly on her wasn't paranoia – not by a long shot if the way Raiders and Vipers radically changed vectors was any indication of her current situation.

The concept of needing one more thing to contend with was something she didn't want to dangle in front of Fate's sense of humour.

Now, she understood what it meant to have to think 'outside the box'.

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

The Raiders were mopping the Combat Zone with Colonial asses.

From his position in the Search and Rescue raptor, Helo counted the number of kills the Vipers made but it didn't match the amount of damage the Raiders were inflicting.

Keeping to his station as Racetrack tacked to where Hot Dog was floating – sans a starboard wing – he watched as the Raiders circled, re-formed and made for another pass. Twelve out of the initial sixteen Cylon ships were left.

The rest of the Fleet was blinking out around them even as a towline was fired and magnetically attached to the damaged Viper. Hot Dog's reassurance that he was fine and that his oxygen supply was intact became background noise as an unidentified blip suddenly appeared on his scopes.

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

The battle was going well. Colonial forces were being beaten by one of their own.

Zak perched on the edge of Starbuck's tank as he gazed down on her. The green of her eyes was corrupted by the harsh chemical compounds injected into her body and the electrical impulses that re-directed her synapses as she focused on things that were taking place far beyond where the BaseStar took its offensive position. Her fingers clenched and released despite the bindings that kept her in place. The limited twisting of her body matched some of the more extreme dives and banking that the Raiders under her control performed.

All around her, the opaque viscous fluid was beginning to darken into a pale-blush colour. The exertions of her body, the increase in her blood pressure and heightened heart rate had opened up the deeper lash marks left by Number Three and tore at the skin already punctured by the imbedded electrodes.

Taking one finger, Zak dipped it into her bath and then pulled it back out. Holding it up to the light and rubbing it between his other fingers, a sense of humbleness overcame him. Charisma and the willingness to follow a leader who put her life on the line as much as she gambled with those under her command galvanized Cylon and human forces alike. She bled for Colonies and she was now shedding blood for the Cylon cause. No wonder God had called her into His service.

Recalling thoughts that he hadn't indulged in for more than two years, the pink pearlescent sheen that clung to his skin made him nostalgic at the same time. He had always known that she would look lovely in pink. It was the perfect colour for someone of her pale complexion and innate sensuality.

Turning to Simon with the thought of offering a prayer of thanks to God, supplicant words fell away as the other model looked at him with an expression of surprise at what was being relayed to their section of the ship from the Command Centre.

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

Lee kept his face impassive as his people intercepted the incoming attack force. Focusing on the groupings, the formation was the usual-unusual. Unusual based on what was on file since the escape from Ragnar Anchorage; usual because it was consistent with what Colonial forces had been defending themselves against over the last six weeks. In the past forty-two days, every time Colonial and Cylon forces skirmished, not once did the same attack pattern appear. Machines were supposed to be predictable and follow-through with a particular type of programming which would eventually repeat itself. Not now. Today, Raiders were flying in a triangular formation: three fighters in the back, two fighters in the middle and a lead ship in front. The wild cards in the mix were the two remaining enemy crafts that trailed the initial six, one each off of the back end of the formation. Not only were they flying at a different velocity then the other ships, but the sensation of needing to pay special attention to the two Raiders hanging back had him a half a second behind Captain Kelly in demanding to know what just appeared on the radar.

Leaving the FTL console, Gaeta quickly accessed the DRAEDIS program and had the answer that had dread coiling in bellies of everyone in CIC.

"Sir – it's the Blackbird. The pilot is trying to make contact with the Cylon attack force."

His next heartbeat thumped in time with his father's command.

"Find that frequency, Lieutenant. Find it and drown it. That's an order." Adama ground out. "Captain Adama – I want that ship."

Looking at the attack forces, Lee triggered his headset and spoke to his pilots, "All craft. Convene on heading Delta. The Blackbird is on the board and your orders are to go and get it."

"Copy that, Galactica." Coda, the lead pilot, sounded exasperated. Lee could understand – his people were not only fighting for their lives and running against the FTL clock but now they had orders to fetch a traitor.

Reading from her monitor, Dee looked up at the command personnel as Gaeta went back to his post at the FTL computer. "Sixty-five percent of the fleet is away, Sirs."

"ETA ninety-three seconds before Galactica is due to jump." Gaeta announced.

On the DRAEDIS screen, the two opposing forces split up – each focused on the solitary signal that was on-course for the BaseStar that loomed on the outer edge of the scopes.

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

"Repeat. This is Sharon Valerii, Cylon Model Number Eight requesting clearance for an emergency docking."

The sound of the other Model's voice coming through the comms was enough to pull Zak's attention away from his Persephone and share a quizzical look with Simon.

"It is up to you, Number Two – what do you want to do?" Simon deferred to his brother.

Stepping away from Starbuck, Zak angled his head towards the communications panel and spoke loud enough for the sensors to carry his words to the bridge. "Number Six, Eight, Three and Five – what is the consensus?"

Aaron Doral, Number Five, answered for the command crew. "We are in agreement. The prodigal daughter is to be returned to the fold. As well as the hybrid life she carries."

"I agree." Zak nodded his head.

"Cylon BaseStar, I am being pursued by Colonial forces. Repeat. This is Sharon Valerii, Cylon Model Number Eight requesting emergency assistance. There are Colonial Vipers closing in on me and I am in an unarmed, un-armoured vessel." The desperation that crept around the edges of Sharon's plea for help was unmistakable.

A silent question passed between him and Simon, specifically in regards to the mauve hue that had diffused throughout the tank.

"Her heart-rate is fast and her blood pressure is rising to a dangerous level – that's why she is bleeding more heavily than before." Simon stated Starbuck's medical status as a matter of fact, devoid of any interpersonal connection. "Dehydration is starting to be a factor. We may have to do a hard disconnect if her vital signs suddenly spike or crash."

A feral glint sparked his eyes and underscored his decision. A hard disconnect, the equivalent of pulling the plug on an electrical device, would kill any other subject in her situation. Not even Simon completely understood just how much resiliency his Kara possessed. She wouldn't fail – she didn't know how too.

"Prepare another dosage and administer it to her immediately." Striding back to her side, Zak lowered his face once again. He could feel the radiant warmth of the stained fluid wafting up and across his cheeks. "There's a secondary mission you need to accomplish, Starbuck. You're to protect and escort Sharon back to the safety of this BaseStar at all costs. Do you understand?"

A hoarse scream forced out from a pair of rapidly cracking lips gave him his answer as the electrodes fed more current into her nervous system and a fresh round of chemical compounds enslaved her mind and body.

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

Colonial Vipers versus Cylon Raiders; it was a race to see who would get her first. Each competitor was wickedly fast, equally armed and hell-bent on capturing the pilot of the Blackbird.

On DRAEDIS, Lee, Adama, Kelly and the rest of CIC watched as the stealth ship streaked towards the recovery line. Coming in on an intercept course, the Raiders were closing in at breakneck speeds.

Over the comms, Coda's voice was heard above all the other battle-chatter.

"Galactica – Coda; we are coming up on the recovery line. What are your instructions? I can get a lock on the Blackbird guaranteeing that the Cylons won't get it."

It was all Lee could do not to swivel his head and look at his father. He could, though, feel the expectant stare that bounced off the back of Gaeta's head and ricocheted around CIC as the Tactical Officer read the latest information from the FTL read-out.

"Thirty-seven seconds until we jump, Commander," Gaeta answered Adama's question.

"Sir – still unable to trace the frequency over which the Blackbird is transmitting," Dee reported. "All pilots and E.C.O.'s have been accounted for; still no idea who is behind the stick."

On screen, the Cylon forces split and took up a new formation.

On screen, the Colonial forces were closing the gap between it and the Blackbird.

"Galactica – what are your orders?" Coda sounded slightly stressed. It was something any pilot could understand; keeping a Viper at maximum velocity while maintaining weapons-lock required a level of concentration that was hard to maintain for any length of time.

Behind Captain Kelly, a Marine rushed into CIC and snapped to attention.

"Coda – stand by." Adama advised. Looking at the Marine he ordered, "Report."

"Sir – report from Corporal Venner. Cylon Model Sharon overpowered her escort, as they were en-route from Sickbay and making their way back to The Cage. She is loose, somewhere on the ship."

"No she isn't." Adama snapped.

Mirroring his father's vexation, Lee pursed his lips, "So much for our mystery pilot."

"Eighty-six percent of the Fleet is away." Dee blurted out the most recent numbers of ships that had reached safety.

"Galactica will jump in seventeen seconds." Gaeta fine-tuned their timetable. If anything was going to be done, it was going to have to be now.

Lee felt Captain Kelly trying to catch his eye, but he kept his gaze fixed on the DRAEDIS scopes even as he spoke out loud to his father. "What do you want to do, Sir?"

A long three seconds stretched around CIC as everyone held their breath waiting on whether or not Adama would give the order to destroy the Blackbird and the woman – machine – who flew it.

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

"Holy frak! All craft – evasive manoeuvres – now, now, now!" Helo's commands broke the silence between SAR, Vipers and Galactica with a thunderclap.

He didn't need the scopes to see what was happening. On screen the two trailing Raiders had slipped underneath the stack of six that were still on a collision course and seconds from crossing into the recovery area, accelerated, and had burst up – and through – Coda's tight pursuit formation.

Vipers scattered on whatever vectors they could tumble and burn to as they scrambled to avoid mid-air collisions. The race for the Blackbird was forfeited by the need for survival. The attacking raiders – numbering eight – were firing at his squadron even as the remaining four spread out and moved into position to take up a protective diamond formation around the rogue stealth craft.

The first to recover and re-direct his bird towards the original mission, Coda's breathless voice came through the comms.

"Galactica – Coda; I've re-established lock-and-tone on the Blackbird but it won't last long. What'd you want to do?"

Helo felt his eyes widen in surprise as he had never heard Adama hesitate to make a tough call. For her part, Racetrack cursed under her breath for Command to either tell the pilot to fire or to get out of there.

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

The radar in CIC could barely keep up with the frantic pace that the dogfights between Vipers and Raiders set.

"FTL co-ordinates set and jump drives are powered up, Commander." Gaeta reported from his station.

Across the room, Dee piped up, "Sir – all civilian ships are away."

Caught up in the moment, Kelly took his captain bars in his own hands as he stated the obvious.

"Flight or fight; it's either now or never, Sir."

A hooded scowl from his father put the other officer in his place but it didn't erase the comment from where it hung in the air.

Seeing his father nod to Gaeta, Lee saw the Lieutenant pick up the handset even as his father spoke into the comms.

"Galactica Actual to all craft; back to the barn. Combat landings."

"All hands, prepare to jump."

On the scopes, Lee saw the Raiders solidifying their diamond formation even as Colonial signals retreated back to the flight pods. There was no way to get to the Blackbird now. They had waited too long to make a decision and missed their window to re-acquire the escaped prisoner and the stealth ship.

"Flight Deck confirms that all birds are in and accounted for, Sir." Dee relayed from across the room.

"Jump," Adama ordered.

The lurch of FTL wrenched his stomach but it was the whitening of his father's knuckles that made him feel like a cat that had been stroked the wrong way.

The fleet was safe. All crafts – flight worthy and battle damaged – were on board Galactica. Why did the Old Man suddenly look older as Galactica re-materialized in a Cylon-free sector of space?

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

To say that she was welcomed back with open arms into the Cylon fold would be an understatement.

After docking 'Laura' in the hanger bay under the scrutiny of a four Raider escort, she was marched to the bridge flanked by two Centurions.

Being among so many individuals on Galactica, it was surreal to see so many copies of the same body come and go out of the Command Centre.

In the personas of Helo, Apollo and Starbuck, she had seen each of them take on their various roles by becoming different aspects of the same person. In the example of Apollo, he was also Captain Adama, Galactica's by-the-book CAG. But he was also, in slightly more private settings, the man who answered when Kara – Starbuck and Captain Thrace – called out to him using the name 'Lee'.

For her, she knew who she was. She was Sharon – the Raptor pilot who fell in love with Karl Agathon. Standing ten feet away at the opposite end of the console was Boomer, the Raptor pilot who fell in love with Chief Tyrol and was 'killed' by a member of the deck crew.

She and Boomer were two completely different entities shaped by two different life experiences that happened to share the same genetic blue prints. Around them, in the corridors performing their tasks, were other Number Eights that never had exposure to the human world or the opportunity to interact with such a volatile species. Dwelling on those concepts would only distract her from following what was going on around her, but at the same time, it was a reality that was deeply disturbing.

Mentally rewinding the bits of debate she had missed, she snapped a look at Doral.

"I have no problem interfacing with the Hybrid and allowing her to scan me."

The looks of surprise and appreciation were interchangeable between D'Anna, Six, Boomer, and the rest of the Models standing in judgement over her acceptance back into Cylon society.

"Place your hands in the Living Water, Number Eight." Always the sceptical one, the tone that came from Number Three – D'Anna – was all but a sneer.

Schooling her face to be placid, she stepped up to The Basin and felt the cool-warm water rise up to her wrists as she submerged her hands. The presence of another mind – not quite mechanical but not quite organic either – was comforting. If she had a mother, this is what she imagined it would feel like to be embraced by a parental figure. This was one thing she did miss in the isolation that accompanied the status of individuality.

The Hybrid – the humanoid 'pilot' of the BaseStar – had barely delved past her primary programming when Sharon felt waves of indescribable pain ripple up from somewhere deep within the ship. Every humanoid Cylon clutched at their bodies and cried out in an agony conveyed through the bio-mechanical conduits that interconnected every Cylon – including Centurions and Raiders – to one another. The never ceasing red 'eye' of the metal soldiers stopped in mid-movement and flared to three times their normal brightness.

For herself, she had barely enough time to break her fall before the blackness over came her as the sensations – felt by her and her unborn child – robbed her of consciousness.

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

"Her vitals are spiking."

The fluid in the tank had graduated from mauve to a brown-pink hue. Starbuck's breathing was coming in gasps; she couldn't get enough air into her lungs due her throat being constricted. Her rapid-fire heartbeat could be seen pulsing in the generous outlines of her lips. Dehydration from the second round of drugs, electrical stimuli and prolonged exertion darkened the hollows of her eyes and receded her gums. Her electrolytes were imbalanced and true exhaustion slackened every muscle.

Leaning over the tank, looking into eyes that couldn't see him, he smiled down at her.

"Well done, Persephone." Craning his neck and speaking over his shoulder at his fellow brother, Zak gave the command. "Hard disconnect – NOW!"

Three things happened at once: a gurgling sound came from the bottom of the tank as the fluid began to drain; one by one the electrodes pulled were extracted from where they were imbedded deep within her muscles and Kara screamed as the most intense agony she had ever experienced careened freely between her body, mind and soul and radiated throughout the ship.

Grasping onto the sides of the rapidly emptying tank for support as Zak rode out Kara's externalised, projected pain; a rueful look crossed his face.

God's Broken Dove was intact. He knew because he read her lips as she forced air out of her chest to form four words.

"My. Name. Is. Starbuck."

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg

It was the pain. Pain was what kept the moral compass that Captain Thrace carried and passed it along to the Starbuck that the Cylon controlled.

Pain from the lash marks, the pain from blood loss, and the pain from the deeply penetrating electrodes was what she used to prevent the Raiders from annihilating members of her squadron. Not that she didn't feel the blood lust that came with battle, the thrill of the hunt and the triumph of a brilliantly executed play. That was unavoidable. Those reactions were based in her more primal instincts and sprang from the darker parts of her psyche. Long ago she had reconciled herself to the fact that if her destiny was to hand out flowers and teddy bears, she wouldn't be craving the cold beauty of space or the sense of rightness that came with settling into the cockpit of a Viper. The stars were her standard; the attack fighter was her weapon of choice. The ability to use the two in tandem and synchronize them with her mind and heart was what validated her identity as a Colonial Warrior.

Not that she knew it growing up. Not that she wanted to be pilot from the get go. Her mother had been in the service and the Gods knew she never wanted to be like her. Kara knew she was a warrior – but one who did battle on the Pyramid courts. More than once, the tag 'unnaturally gifted' had been applied to her skill with a ball and strategy. The long hours spent on the courts, ostensibly to practice but really as a means to avoid being home, paid off. She had been given a full scholarship when she had been signed to play for the Academy. Sure, she had to agree to six-weeks of Basic Training. But really, getting up at the crack of dawn for a run, classroom and field training all day, and having people scream in your face from sun-up to sun-down was no different from her normal self-imposed training program while she was in school. She was always pissing someone authority figure off and bucking the system; Basic was no different. The way she saw it, Basic instructors got paid to scream at cadets so why not let them earn their money? Pointing a gun at a target was a lot like shooting a Pyramid ball at a goal-hole, and the obstacle course was a lot like dodging members of an opposing team. Needless to say, she excelled at both. A vicious injury, inflicted by some faceless second-stringer during an exhibition game at the start of her second year, turned her world on its head.

Her arm had been thrown back, the ball in a perfect position in her palm to make the winning shot, when she felt a large foot come down and crash at an angle across her right knee. She had a split second to decide what to do even as an explosion of pain travelled up from her knee to every part of her body. Should she try to make the shot or hand it off to a team-mate? Her arm snapped the ball to nearest player wearing the same colours that she was even as she felt her self fall to the ground. A wicked smirk – her trade mark smirk – spread across her face as she watched the ball be deftly plucked from the air and smoothly swished into goal-hole. After that, things became relatively blurry except for two pairs of eyes – one brown and the other blue. The blue eyes locked onto her and stayed with her as team-mates and medics rushed to her side.

She remembered peering through legs and knees, always keeping contact with the bluest eyes she had ever seen that somehow gave her the strength not to cry out when her knee was probed and simply nod in agreement when she was told to keep still as a gurney was on its way. The brown eyes – she had noticed them before when the same guy attended almost every single one of her home games – became furious and locked onto the opposing team. The shouts of foul play and unsportsmanlike behaviour were reaching a fever pitch. Despite the fervour, those blue eyes stayed with her. In the end, it wasn't the passion of the brown eyes that got her to her feet; it was the concern she saw in the blue eyes as she saw him flit his gaze around the perimeter of the indoor facility. It was from him she learned that the crowd was two steps from rioting. Hell, she was a popular player who was the victim of an illegal assault. If she were in the stands, and saw someone do that to another player, she would be demanding blood as well.

Her green eyes stayed with his – whoever he was - blue eyes and she remembered exchanging nearly imperceptible nods between them as she beckoned the team coach and the referee to her side.

"Get me up," she gasped. Grasping each of their wrists and swallowing the pain that came from feeling the components of her knee float on a raft of swollen tissue she got her feet.

Keeping the blue eyes in her peripheral vision, and managing to find some semblance of balance, the crowd was still on the cusp of rioting but the outrage had quieted to a dull roar as she stood tall and proud. She had the perfect plan to galvanise the crowd without having the crowd tear itself apart.

Letting go of the two men, she pointed to the man who mangled her knee and crooked her finger at him, beckoning him to come closer to where she slightly swayed on her feet.

Pain obscured the man's face and muted everything around her except the owner of the two blue eyes that bolstered her from their place in the stands, fifty-five feet away.

Favouring her knee, she propped her left hand on the frakker's shoulder and swept the arena with her hazy vision.

"My knee will heal!" Her defiant words were for those who had seen her go down, not the nimrod standing in front of her.

A fervent cheer went up the crowd.

"But you will always have a glass jaw!" She turned her head and focused squarely on the man in front of her. Dropping her hand, she hauled back her arm and put every ounce of energy she had into nailing him with a right hook that landed with enough force to send him sprawling backwards and knocked out cold.

With that, she felt – rather than saw – the crowd leap to their feet and rally behind the star player that would be remembered for laying out a frakker who shouldn't have been on the court to begin with in a blaze of vindicating glory instead of being the subject of pity over a career that had been cut short before it had a chance to really begin.

Within seconds, the crowd was clapping as one, clapping for her.

Riding high on the adrenaline of punching out the other guy's lights and curtailing a potentially ugly situation, she turned her head with the intention of thanking the owner of the owner of those blue eyes for what he did for her, only to be denied finding him by those standing, clapping and cheering blocking her line of sight.

Hobbling off the court, she made one more impassioned cry to the crowd, which was immediately echoed back, before disappearing out of sight.

Only when there were medics and the team doctor by her side did she allow herself to embrace the pain that she had kept at bay. Collapsing onto to the awaiting gurney and curling up into a foetal position as safety straps were secured across her hips and shoulders; she felt every bump and roll as she was moved down the long corridor and towards the bay doors. Beyond those doors, an Emergency Medical Transport was waiting to take her to the nearest orthopaedic facility.

Pain and curiosity competed for her attention when she saw the medic pulling her gurney tilt his chin left and then right as he thanked someone she couldn't see from where she was strapped down.

A random thought about how this side of the building didn't have automatic doors had her lifting her head and straightening out her body enough to look past her feet and back over the way she came.

Holding the double bay doors ajar were two men. One had brown eyes; those she recognized from seeing him in stands and rising to add his voice to the outrage over the cruel blow that moron inflicted. The other was the blue-eyed man; the one who gave her the strength to own the court that could have just as easily destroyed her. The brown-eyed man, the younger of the two, she gave a smile and a cocky head nod that told him that she was down but not out. To the blue-eyed man, she gave her eyes and her thanks – something that was special as much as it was unique. She rarely let the few people she kept in her life do anything for her, let alone a complete stranger. It was he who gave her a nod in return, accepting her gift.

Memory gave way to reality as her eyes fluttered open. The blue eyes that gave her so much strength became brown. Dark hair changed from being closely cropped to shoulder length and flowing. A masculine physique became a softly muscled feminine form.

It wasn't Lee Kara was looking at – it was a Number Eight. A Sharon model had her arms underneath Kara's aching shoulder, which stopped and didn't say a word as she turned face and wretched bile over the corridor of the BaseStar.

Pain had been Kara's friend that night when her world changed and pain was going to be the steel she was going to use to fight whatever the next thing was that Zak was going to do to her. She might not have Lee within her line of sight to keep her grounded, but he was no further than her memories.

"Where are you taking me?" The croaked question was trite, but she needed to buy some time to figure out what her next step was going to be – literally. The walls kept shifting and the floor was moving as she looked down and put one foot in front of the other. The fact that she was naked and tacky to the touch wasn't lost to her either.

"You've been given permission to get cleaned up. You've been too unstable to move for several hours but Simon said that now was an okay time get you rinsed off and that there would be a garment waiting for you when we got you back to your room."

"You aren't going to win, you know. I'm not going to let you." Syllables slurred together but her words were distinguishable because she spoke them so slowly.

Sharon knew that there was no way that Starbuck could be seeing clearly, much less being in any shape to form coherent thoughts. Nevertheless, the conviction behind her declaration challenged the betrayal she was sent to accomplish and had her thinking of another way to do what had to be done.

Pausing in the corridor, Sharon gave a measured, sidelong look at the bloodied and battered warrior.

"I'm counting on that, Starbuck."

Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg Xxx Bsg


	15. Chapt 15:Darkest Part of the Night

Another Way: Chapter 15 

**Darkest Part of the Night**

BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG

"Where are you taking me?" The croaked question was trite, but she needed to buy some time to figure out what her next step was going to be – literally. The walls kept shifting and the floor was moving as she looked down and put one foot in front of the other. The fact that she was naked and tacky to the touch wasn't lost to her either.

"You've been given permission to get cleaned up. You've been too unstable to move for several hours but Simon said that now was an okay time get you rinsed off and that there would be a garment waiting for you when we got you back to your room."

"You aren't going to win, you know. I'm not going to let you." Syllables slurred together but her words were distinguishable because she spoke them so slowly.

Sharon knew that there was no way that Starbuck could be seeing clearly, much less being in any shape to form coherent thoughts. Nevertheless, the conviction behind her declaration challenged the betrayal she was sent to accomplish and had her thinking of another way to do what had to be done.

Pausing in the corridor, Sharon gave a measured, sidelong look at the bloodied and battered warrior.

"I'm counting on that, Starbuck."

Sharon felt her friend tremble with something akin to mirth. At least Starbuck was still on the board and in play.

That is, until the warrior-pilot became deadweight in her arms and Starbuck's head lolled away from Sharon's supportive shoulder.

"Come here." Staggering, her balance shaken by the unexpected load, Sharon glanced over her shoulder to one of the two Centurions trailing them. "Help her."

Stepping back as the metal soldier came forward, the corners of her mouth quirked. For just an instant reality shifted and Sharon was looking at two drunks – Helo and Starbuck – each trying to keep the other upright after being tossed out of a Picon bar as she walked unsteadily to the curb to hail a transport. That is, until her almond eyes darkened and the edges of her mouth became mournful. Those memories were ones that she inherited from Boomer; they weren't her own. What she could claim as her own was seeing, first hand, the strength that the blonde haired woman drew on to keep herself alive and her head 'in the game'. Even unconscious, Starbuck found a way to make the transition from being slumped in her arms to being cradled in the clanker's 'embrace' as difficult as possible.

The Starbuck that spiked Boomer's memories was loud, brash, talented, gifted and self-destructive. The Starbuck travelled back with Sharon from Caprica had the elements of being volatile, dangerous, suspicious, committed and damaged added to an already complex persona that would never consider allowing what was being done to her to take her on a Final Journey – mores the pity. Of all the potential scenarios that were reviewed with her, no one overlooked the possibility that Sharon could find Starbuck already dead. If Starbuck died as she was being made to fulfil her part in the Cylon Manifesto, Sharon's objective became that of simple sabotage and evacuation. The absence of jangling metals made her impending escape third on the list of 'Things to Do'. She would have to find them because right now the only thing on Starbuck's body was broken skin and a silver band on her left thumb that bisected the grossly swollen digit. Adama was specific when he stipulated that the only way he would believe the 'Starbuck died Before I Got There' scenario was if Sharon pooled the tags in the middle of his open palm.

The damage to Starbuck's – it was the only way she could look at the Viper pilot that had killed so many of her people and not superimpose any more memories she had of the woman and bunkmate – body was extensive enough that she didn't bother telling the metal soldier how best to carry the human. If Starbuck was going to live to kill another day, like Simon alluded, the least Sharon thought she could do was make the trip to the cleansing areas be as brief as possible.

Stretching her strides and listening to the whirring of mechanical legs and hips rising and clanking, matching her pace, she allowed her mind to wander over everything that had happened since she came on board the BaseStar.

Her hands had been in the Living Water; the Hybrid did make an initial connection to her but it was Fate's sense of timing – in the form of a harrowing anguish that swept the entire population of the BaseStar – that cut the interface to her silica pathways before her ulterior motives could be deciphered and brought to the attention of the others.

Picking herself up off the floor of the Command Centre, slowly climbing back into awareness and leaning heavily against the centre console, she was the last one to get to her feet. Waiting for the deck to stop swimming in and out of focus didn't mean she couldn't hear the discussion going on around her. Diagnostic protocols were called out, programme checks were run and direct interface with the Hybrid all confirmed what the other Models hypothesised as to what had happened to every Cylon on board. The fact that extremely amplified biomechanical feedback, stemming from an internal source, could manifest itself to such a destructive level instigated a fresh round of debate that she couldn't follow. What she did gather was that because the feedback hit her the hardest earned her a tentative parole – of sorts – by the other Models. Cradling her stomach as she straightened, it was the ridiculous notion of a 'mother's instinct' that made her think that her unborn daughter somehow intensified the emotional attack – as it pertained to her, not any other Cylon – that resonated throughout the BaseStar. One after another, her brothers and sisters agreed that she was still connected to the General Consciousness and therefore, capable of being monitored by The Hybrid. If anything were to become amiss, then the Living Machine of the BaseStar would make it known to the collective whole and she could be dealt with accordingly. Adding her own palm to the Consensus, Sharon nodded her head and logged her own vote: agreed.

The debate switched to the issue of the source of the 'attack' and those responsible. Seizing the moment, Sharon made her excuses and walked out of the Command Centre as the other voices deepened with the 'give and take' that was the hallmark of Cylon unity.

Walking down the corridors with two Centurions in her wake as 'guides', she deliberately branched out to an area of the ship that was separate from the more heavily trafficked corridors. She needed to think, to prepare herself for the next phase of her mission. Being caught with a look of consternation on her face would only arouse suspicions she had – temporarily – put aside. One thing that didn't surprise her was Three's calculating gaze; that model challenged the motivations of any Cylon that had extended contact with Humanity. The parting glance that shaded D'Anna's blue eyes as she left the Command Centre several hours ago was the reason why she had two Centurions flanking her shadow.

Ahead of her, at the top of the hallway, a male Model took the corner leaving her alone in the corridor, sans her escorts. Peering into the only room he could have come out of, she remembered watching Simon – as he prepped two bags of fluids, plasma and blood – and wondering why Simon would be administering medical aid to a fellow Cylon. Unless things had changed since she petitioned for asylum, it was standard procedure to terminate the Model and let the body die, knowing that very shortly it would be resurrected hale, healthy and whole. Unless the model Simon was tending to had something… contagious; that was enough to make her shudder.

Calling out from the doorframe – there were no doors on a BaseStar – she figured that if there was anything she needed to know, now was as good a time as any.

"Is that what affected everyone?" She kept her voice neutral. Appearances were everything at this stage in the game. The more she acted like she belonged where she was, then the chances of someone asking her why she was there decreased extensionally.

A quizzical expression merged with the concerned look on Simon's face as he turned to see who was interrupting his lab-time. Recognizing an Eight, his tone reflected his posture; a little unbalanced but in control of the situation. The thought that he was 'on the hunt' seemed appropriate. Like his science experiment had taken an unexpected turn that could change the direction of his research. A cold finger traced the groove of her spine. Of all the Models, she knew Simon was among the most capable when it came to finding out where humans could – physiologically – be the most useful in furthering the Cylon cause. He was the one who had developed the concept of 'Farming' and made the procedure a medical reality.

"Yes."

The fact that he kept his answer to one word was what let her walk into the room and cross to where he was standing, making notation on a chart. Bent over something, blocking whomever he was attending to from view, she watched as transparent sides of something pull apart and sink into the floor. An unpleasant, sweet-like smell hung in the air. It was similar to what she remembered vanilla smelling like, but with a slightly – sinister? – edge rounding out the aroma that became palatable where her nose met her throat.

Still standing in the middle of Sharon's line-of-sight, Simon nodded in understanding. The sound of her opening and closing her mouth, trying to clear the taste from where it collected behind her tonsils, drew his attention away from the notation he was making on his clipboard.

"The ventilation system is still compensating for the extended session. We've done this so many times that I must admit that I don't even notice it now." His expectant, patient gaze was something she didn't understand until she realized that he had been expecting – not her, specifically – but a Model Eight all the same. This Simon had never interacted with her before, and if she could play her part just right, he would have no reason to think otherwise. Attempting humour, he grinned, "What is that saying?"

"It's an acquired taste." Sharon answered automatically, letting Simon hear the phrase Humans coined while she spoke of the ugliness that the room harboured.

His back turned to her and she watched as he reached up to one of the cabinets mounted on the wall and pulled out a fresh syringe and a small glass bottle. Confusion tilted her head as he filled the needle and tapped out the air bubbles. Her eyes on him, she didn't notice what his body had been blocking until he collected all his materials and stepped up to the side of a body lying prone in an elongated, contoured, chair.

"It'll be roughly four more hours before you can relocate the subject to the holding facility." Inserting the needle into the line and pressing on the plunger with steady pressure, Simon added, "This coagulant will need some time to spread through out the vascular system. Just like before, if you see the subject start to seize or any drastic change occurs, page me." Done with the syringe, he lined up the bags of plasma and blood along side the pouch of rapidly draining electrolytes already hanging from a standee. Another length of intravenous line was measured out and his dark fingers cradled the crook of an elbow. Scowling at something as his voice was directed down towards the floor, it was a strain to hear what he said.

"…veins are collapsing again. It's getting harder and harder to bring her back to a cognitive status." Intently looking at a pale arm and smartly slapping it several times, he called over his shoulder, "Bring me the needle that is the next size down."

Getting a wad of gauze and the needle he asked for, Sharon put both in his out-stretched palm even as the mental image of a pair of small octagonal metal discs landing on top of necklace-grade chain mounded in the centre of a weathered upturned hand played out in her mind. Breaking her reverie, she traced the length of Simon' hand to where it joined with his arm. From his arm, her gaze wandered over to a set of bindings that was keeping someone – something – in place.

Unable to stop her reaction, the breath she sucked in over her teeth filled her lungs to overflowing. Having swabbed a patch of skin clean, he was wriggling the needle in Starbuck's arm in an attempt to get a second line flowing into the unconscious woman's body when Simon gave her a sidelong glance steeped in reassurance.

"Don't worry. She can't get at you as long as you keep her immobilized. Which, at this point in time, is best for everyone; she can't try to kill you and she'll live to kill another day." Simon explained. "That is a good thing for us."

Somewhere, Sharon knew that Simon used the word 'us' as a euphemism for the Cylon war machine. Somewhere, she filed his words away so that she could process their meanings later. But nowhere did she see Captain Kara Thrace. The body that was strapped down to a piece of equipment that she had never seen before was a husked copy of the vibrant woman who stood toe-to-toe with Lee Adama and didn't back down, the officer who had clocked Colonel Tigh and went to the brig with a swagger in her hips and a stogie clamped between her teeth, and the card-shark that held court at the Triad tables like she was the anointed Queen of Sheba.

Starbuck was pale, paler than she had ever seen her. Her hair, slicked back and pressed flat against her head, had grown out considerably since her capture. Her cheekbones were overly prominent, making her eyes seem sunken. Deep creases cut around her mouth and across her forehead, the vestiges left from transferring her pain to every corner of the BaseStar. Ropes of sinewy muscle stretching from her chest to her hands belied the hours of callisthenics Starbuck logged. Globules of thick, viscous – something like resurrection fluid – rolled along the planes of her body and snaked along the underside of the apparatus until their weight made the blobs fall to the floor. Beads of blood dripped off of her back and seeped out of puncture marks along her body. The fact that Starbuck was naked didn't even register in the wake of everything else that Sharon found herself cataloguing.

"She's alive?" Sharon formed the words in her head and they slipped past her lips before she could stop them. Suddenly, Adama's missive became a whole lot more complicated.

"Oh, yes – she's alive. Doing a 'hard disconnect', among other unforeseen complications, put her into respiratory distress. In addition to putting an air-tube down her throat, it took several attempts to re-stabilize her heartbeat." Satisfied, Simon peeled off his surgical gloves and pocketed them. His answer was detached; he took her question as concern for the Cylon cause, "My instructions stand. If you notice anything, have me paged at once."

Nodding silently, she didn't spare a glance at the human physiology expert as she methodically began straightening up the room. She did hear Simon give some last minute instructions from the access way.

"Keep the Centurions with you until she comes too, and then instruct them to wait outside in the corridor. The cameras overhead will document her reactions as she regains consciousness, but if you could mark down your own perceptions as well that would be very useful. Also, pull out the lines and then get her cleaned up. I've noticed that she is marginally less agitated around you," Simon referred to her Model rather than her identity, "than any other Model as her visual ability returns to her."

Great – cameras and being under the never-ceasing moving eyes of the Centurions at the same time. Not having a clear plan to begin with, whatever string of thoughts she had pieced together as to how she was going to carry out her mission were now moot.

Five hours into a four-hour vigil had Sharon's finger on the call-button because Starbuck was still unconscious when Simon predicted she would be transportable. It the sound of laboured, harsh, breathing that stopped her from paging the other Cylon. Relieved, she turned her attention to the control panel and took a guess as to what button would release Starbuck. Sighing with relief when the metal bindings disengaged, she walked back over to Simon's latest scientific fixation and prayed that the other Model's words weren't based on semantics. It took one look at the pilot, as lucidity fought with chaos for dominance, to know that Starbuck was between 'worlds'. Insight flared. As the drugs wore off, Starbuck's current reality overlapped with whatever 'reality' the Cylons put in her head. It was something Sharon could relate too; coming from one 'world' and made to live in another would mess with anyone's head. At least she had made a deliberate choice to do so. But not Starbuck – Starbuck had learned to live with a dual reality and make it one of her own.

Where did that thought come from? Sharon shook her head as her musings took an unpredictable turn and went back to seeing what she could do for warrior-pilot.

The small gauze pads she found worked well for cleaning up the sites where the intravenous lines were extracted but impractical for anything else. Stopping and starting around the pilot's wounds, Sharon grimaced at the way the top layers of muck were starting to harden and cake on Starbuck's skin. Cupping her fingers together, the edges of her hands were the only things she had to scrape the majority of the goop off of the other woman's body.

Not sure if she was speaking to Starbuck, Adama, on behalf of the Cylon race, to God, or what – Sharon whispered, "I'm sorry," as she repeatedly snapped her wrists to flick the mess off of her own hands that she sloughed off of Starbuck's body.

Maybe that was the reason why Sharon found herself half-guiding-half-supporting Starbuck down the corridors of the BaseStar. Maybe it was because she, Sharon, needed the touch of another warm body after being in The Cage since she arrived on Galactica. Maybe it was a call back to the programming that had initially been created more than forty years ago when the concept of a Cylon was first developed – that Cylons were created to make Life easier for Man. Or maybe, just maybe, it was what it was: one Being helping Another simply because it was the right thing to do.

Letting the Centurion that wasn't carrying Starbuck bring up the rear, she let her mind open up to the ebbs and flows of information streaming in the air slide through her and let that be her guide to the cleansing facilities. Following through with her mission was the litmus test Adama was going to use as a way to gauge where her loyalties now fell; how much of her was 'human' and how much of her was 'machine'. The bitter irony that she had to be more machine than human to prove her worthiness to the Colonials was right in front of her – literally. A naked, battered, Starbuck being manhandled by a 'clanker' as she was shifted from being cradled between its arms to being hung by her armpits as her feet touched the ground and her head tipping back was the proof that her logic was sound. Karl was right when he summed up the intentions behind Colonial Fleet conditioning because now she could fully appreciate the lengths that he went through to keep Starbuck from pumping a half a dozen rounds into her body outside that museum in Delphi. Now, she understood why so many officers muttered 'it's the mission that matters' like a soul-saving mantra.

When she returned to Galactica – delivering Starbuck's dog tags and allowing Gaeta to connect her to the playback device that would put Starbuck's assassination into living colour – she would have her freedom. Her daughter will be born outside The Cage. She would be given rank and privilege that came with being a Colonial Officer. All for killing a woman who means more to the Fleet and to the three men who will have the most impact on the rest of her life than any other individual in the universe.

Simon's words of advice – that Starbuck was less agitated around an Eight – echoed in her mind and helped her come to a decision as to best take care of an 'enemy' she once called 'friend'. Reaching for the hidden closures on her stylish skirt-set, she let the clothes fall to the floor, kicked off her shoes and put everything on a high shelf well outside of the splash zone.

Regulating the temperature until the water that came out of the spigot matched the air around them; Sharon beckoned the silent soldier forward. Knowing it would be easier for her to clean the other woman up with the Centurion supporting her dead-weight was the only way she could run the washcloth over Starbuck's body and not retch at the revulsion that pricked at her sense of 'right' and 'wrong'. The cruelty that came from the loneliness of being in The Cage day in and day out would never escalate to cruelty that her fellow Cylons had heaped up this woman on Galactica.

Breathing through her mouth, Sharon had to rinse out the cloth after making only on pass to wipe away the layers of blood, sweat and mucus. Still seeing blood on it, she ran it under the water again. Twice more she tried to clean it; until it dawned on her that the cloth was stained – not dirty. More Cylon efficiency; the towels she pulled from the cubby-hole had been used before for the very same reasons.

Scrubbing where she could, dabbing at other places and avoiding the lash marks that criss-crossed Starbuck's shoulders and back like a road map of Caprica City, she motioned to the Centurion to lower the pilot so that Starbuck could be balanced on her knees. It was the only way Sharon could get at the taller woman's hair and keep her out of the direct spray of the water at the same time. It was also the only way Sharon could blame the droplets of water that floated in the air for making her eyes water and claim ignorance to the tears that filled the lower half of her eyes to the point of overflowing.

"Hotter." A low voice carried over the sound of the running water. "Make it hotter."

Starbuck was rousing.

Reaching for the regulator, Sharon turned the dial to the left.

"Hot-ter." The one word was broken up into its two syllables for emphasis even as Starbuck tipped her soap-sudded hair further back into the streaming water. "Turn me."

"It will hurt more if I do that, Starbuck."

"Doesn't matter; hotter," cracked lips barely moved as the words slurred together.

Rolling her lips together with the same breath she used to close and open her eyes, Sharon understood.

Pooling more cleanser into her palm, she threaded her fingers through Starbuck's hair and shifted her until the pressurized water fell across the tops of her shoulders. She watched as the other woman tilted her head back and re-rinsed her hair. It wasn't about clean hair – it was about her back. The only way to get rid of the goop that clung to her stripes as much as it filled in the narrow strips of unmarked skin in between was to use the soap from her hair and let it flow down and over her backside. Hotter water made for more suds as much as it helped melt the stuff off of her.

"Can you stand?" Sharon meant to keep her voice clipped and her words perfunctory, yet she felt her eyes soften as the question rolled off her tongue and onto Kara tentative grip on consciousness.

It was Kara that was in front of her.

During the process of freeing the stuff that had caked the roots of the pilot's hair and watching the other woman time and again tip her head back into the now scalding water and tremble at the impact of streams of water hitting every laceration between the nape of her neck and her coccyx, a transition had taken place. She was taking care of the other woman as only a woman could. No self-consciousness bloomed when Sharon dropped to her own knees and positioned her own naked body to shield Kara's from prying eyes. Lifting, stretching, letting her arms rise and fall as needed, she ran the cloth over the most private aspects of Kara's body, scars that existed before she came on board the BaseStar and did it all in a nurturing way that only can exist between two women when the kinship of womanhood is between them. Being so close to Kara allowed Sharon see that the pain that summoned Kara from her blessed unconsciousness was giving way to utter physical, emotional and mental exhaustion.

Reduced to nodding weakly, Sharon had to look away from the warrior-woman swaying on her knees as Kara's warrior-hardened body betrayed her will to defy.

The pressure of a palm against her lower thigh made Sharon turn back and tilt her chin downward to meet Starbuck's pain-hazy, upturned eyes.

"Even if you live, you're gonna die."

Crouching down, sliding her arm underneath Kara's – Starbuck was back and had shuttered Kara away for her own good – she used her breath to push them both upright rather than comment on Starbuck's cryptic promise.

That is, until Sharon saw Kara's eyes roll up into her head for the second time in an hour. Catching the other woman as she pitched forward, Sharon's eyes flitted between the two Centurions and the expanse of corridor stretching beyond where they stood. The sensation of an hour glass being overturned, the sands of time running out as a clock against the amount of time she had to complete Adama's mission had every thought that crossed her mind since that meeting in the Commander's quarters competing with the revelations of the past several hours. Each was pressing her for an answer she didn't have, a decision her couldn't make.

Ignoring the Centurions, she accepted the burden of Kara's slumped body for a second time, and for a second time, spoke to the other woman when Starbuck couldn't answer.

"Tell me something I don't know, Starbuck. Tell me why you keep this going."

The wounds, old and new; the towels in the shower area being stained and ready to be reused; Simon intrigued over something that had happened before – putting Starbuck in that chair time and again for the same God-driven reasons. Sharon knew she had enough information on how the human body worked to know that Kara should have been dead by now. It had to be by sheer force of will that she had lived through this latest round of 'Cylon versus Starbuck'. If Kara were to just die from what was being done to her, the conflict in her – Sharon's – mind and heart wouldn't need a resolution. But this was… the pilot was acting like Starbuck did when she was on a mission.

Mission?

That one word had Sharon stopping in mid-stride and propping Kara's chin to bring their two faces level with one another.

"Starbuck!" Sharon had to get her attention. Hissing louder than before but no so that the Centurions would pick up on what she was saying, she tried again. "STARBUCK!"

Kara's mouth twitched and her eyes almost opened; it was all the response Sharon needed.

"What is your mission, Starbuck?" Sharon asked, her eyes scanning Kara's face for vital information her words might not contain.

"Can't."

One word – that was all Sharon heard and it wasn't enough. Reaching for one of Kara's hands, she rested her thumb over the site where just an hour ago a needle pumped chemicals into her body.

"Can't, what – Starbuck? Can't say? Won't say? What is it? You need to tell me, Kara." Sharon no sooner said the other woman's name as she pressed the knuckle of her thumb into Thrace's overly abused vein.

An angry flash of defiance snapped pair of eyelids open but that didn't mean that Kara was actually looking at her, Sharon. She was looking at the Centurions walking behind them.

"Can't… die."

With those two words, Starbuck slipped into unconsciousness for the last time. Letting go of her hand, no amount of playing on any of her wounds was going to give Sharon any more answers.

No one was immortal, and Sharon knew enough about Kara to know that the pilot lived with life and death on an every day basis.

Changing her train of thought, Sharon made herself switch from existentialism to verbage.

If Kara said she couldn't die, it was because she wasn't going to let herself die. And if she wasn't going to let herself die; that meant that she had to live for some reason. And, whatever that reason was, it was powerful enough to allow herself to endure whatever Simon was subjecting her to. That she made sure Starbuck lived to be subjected to whatever Simon was doing to her. If they were focused on her, then they would not be focused on anyone else. If they weren't focused on anyone else, because she made sure she was alive for the next round of machinations. That meant that someone else was safe from their attentions. She was protecting someone!

Wait a minute! Sharon's mind whirred with insight into her own thoughts. Them?

But Simon was alone – wasn't he? The image of a Model at the top of the corridor came into focus.

That was the connection. That was why she said she couldn't die. That Model, Simon, the Cylon Cause, Starbuck and who ever she was protecting were all interconnected on a cosmic, pre-destined level.

Her head swimming for a second time, all she had to do was sift through the myriad of possible permutations and she would have her answer; she would have Starbuck's secret. Sharon didn't need deep thoughts to figure out whom Kara was protecting: Lee, Adama, and Helo. The people she loved the most.

She would need her deep thoughts to figure out how the five points: the Mystery Model, Cylon Cause, Simon, Starbuck and those she loved came together to make the here and now the current reality for all of them.

BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG

By the Gods, she was going to kill him.

Not that she couldn't handle it; she had the Alert Fighters organized, launched and the deck prepped for 'Repair and Recovery' without anyone questioning one word that came out of her mouth.

No – she was going to kill him because her sixty-five inches and one-hundred-thirteen pounds of feminine heft was getting her nowhere with the seventy-six inches of irate Karl Agathon when Kat decided to open her big mouth.

Her small hands stretched between Kat and Helo, she whipped her head to where she saw Jammer standing with his mouth wide open. Pitching her voice an octave below where the Raptor ECO and Viper pilot were verbally flaying each other, she hollered out, "Jammer! Get the CAG! And for frak's sake, get me a frakking tranquilliser gun!"

Okay, so maybe the last item was more wishful thinking than anything else, but frakking Tyrol was going to get a frakking earful when he frakking decided to show his frakking face on the frakking hanger deck for making her having to frakking deal with this when he was off doing some frakking Special Request that came down from Command.

"Kat – I never thought I would see a woman who has more hair on her teeth than she has on her chest!" Helo snarled over Cally's head even as Racetrack tried to pull him away from the abrasive Viper pilot. "Your hairy ass is now your frakking face!"

"What's that Helo? I'm having a hard time understanding you. Oh yeah, that's right. You only speak 'Toaster' these days – don't you?" Kat snapped back. "How's it feel sticking your – "

"Go ahead, Kat. Better say it now before Cottle wires your jaw back into place." Racetrack tightened her grip on Helo's arm and gave Katraine a few pearls of wisdom as she watched Helo shift his balance to the balls of his feet and his fists rise to chest level. "And you're slurping your way through your day instead of you sucking your day away on your knees."

"You think you can take me, Raptor-girl?" Kat turned her nose up at Racetrack and angled her chin back at Helo. "News bulletin, Toaster-frakker; brains win over brawn any day. But then again, your mamma splashed about in the shallow end of the gene pool!" Kat sneered as she yanked the buckles on her flight suit free and hauled her arms out of the constrictive sleeves.

"What about those who were a mistake that should've dripped down their mamma's thighs, Katraine?" Karl's insinuation bounced off every surface in the hanger bay.

"I am not going to say it again! Back down – all of you," Cally projected her voice but no one seemed to hear her.

"Well – at least my father frakked a real woman and not some traitorous, battery operated, glorified blow-up doll." Incensed and looking to reclaim some lost ground had Cally turning herself so that she was chest-to-chest with Kat as the pilot lunged forward. "That – THING – should have been blown out an airlock months ago. She stole the frakking Blackbird!"

Looking to put some distance between her and the Viper pilot, Cally rested one hand on Kat's shoulder and pushed the older woman back a couple of steps, "Kat – go wait by your bird."

"Wow, Kat – I didn't know stim-junkies could…"

Coming into the hanger bay at a pace just short of a trot with a group of five pilots he pulled from the bunkroom, Lee couldn't hear the tail end of the insult Karl fired back because Constanza's Viper, minus one wing, was being taxied into the hanger drowned out Agathon's words. Hot Dog's plane would also explain why Kat and Helo were still on the deck wearing their flight suits. SAR duties included making a final, detailed list of damages to planes, as they saw them, for the Chief of the Deck as well as making a preliminary report on any and all injuries and casualties that might have happened under their watch. It was an unspoken agreement that SAR were also the last ones to leave the deck, to make sure everyone who made it home made it off the deck.

He did, though, see Kat pull back her arm, swivel from her hips and completely misjudge where her fist landed – which was in the middle of Cally's face.

Picking up speed, Lee couldn't prevent Cally from bouncing off of Helo and falling to the deck any more than he could prevent the stream of blood that flowed from the Specialist's nose or the way anyone who wasn't invested in the Kat versus Helo Exhibition Match was now picking sides and getting actively involved.

The look of regret that flitted across Kat's face as Cally went down wasn't enough of an apology for Karl. Yeah, some little voice told him that it was a mistake – Kat never meant to hit Cally – that she meant to hit him for what he said. And, that pricked at his guilt. He should have just walked away and never put Cally in a position – especially when she had command of the deck in Tyrol's absence – to have to stop a fight between him and the Viper pilot. But everything was just so… wrong. Broken birds, too much work spread between too few people, staying strong for Lee, Kara – where ever the frak she was – and the rest of the squad, not to mention him and the situation with Sharon had Helo strung pretty tightly. To be perfectly honest, everyone was feeling the strain; even Tigh showed up at a Triad game last week and brought a bottle to share with the table. And now, what happened today… Transferring all his frustrations to his inner Starbuck, he latched onto and made Kat's reaction a rallying cry to teach the little bitch a lesson in 'manners'. Helo had never hit a woman, but right now Kat was a walking, talking asshole that needed to be knocked into next week.

Stepping forward, he never got so far as to put his foot on the ground when Coda and Rat Trap each hooked one of his elbows and hauled him backwards.

Three feet way – closer than his arm length – another pair of pilots were restraining Kat. But not before the grip one of them had slipped and Kat's balled fist flew in his direction. Granted, it never landed – she was too far away for her arm to reach him – but still! It was all the reason he needed to break free of the hold Rat Trap had on him. It also told him just how everyone was going to be playing this – like a squad of referees favouring the home team over the visiting Pyramid squad.

So. Be. Frakking. It.

Crouching down next to Cally with Monkey Boy and moving her out of the 'immediate combat zone' together, Lee saw Kat wriggle an arm free and try to take a swing at Karl. Anger swelled inside him. This – tension – had been building for weeks and he knew it was only going to be a matter of time before it all came to a head. He just didn't know it would fall on Cally's head now that the time had come. Knowing Karl as he did, he wasn't surprised when the larger crooked his arm and jabbed Coda, still attached to his left arm, with the point of his elbow as he twisted and wrenched his other arm free.

It took one Agathon-sized stride to reach Katraine, grab her by her upper arms and lift her bodily off the floor. Lee had listened to more than one person rant about someone or another to the point where he already knew the insults Helo would have fired at Kat without having to actually hear them due to sheer repetition. Which was why he held the belief that Karl wouldn't actually be stupid enough to hit Kat was the reason why he kept his protective perch next to Cally.

Too bad Hot Dog didn't know Karl well enough to share the same faith.

Going for the element of surprise, Hot Dog tugged at his flight suit even as he charged into the snarl too late to stop Karl from tossing Kat backwards and onto the two pilots that stood behind her. Launching himself off of someone's trailing arm, Hot Dog lived up to his call sign as he made fully-body contact with Helo.

Above the din, beyond the cat-calls and behind the rows of down Vipers and Raptors, a long-ago lecture, courtesy of someone who didn't consider herself a big enough dipstick for the job, about being 'friends' and being The CAG" surfaced from Lee's memory.

Satisfied that Cally was safe enough for the moment, Lee put on his Captain Adama visage. Regardless as to whether she was there or not, Kara was still the Big Dog of this crew and he was the CAG and the Alpha Male of this pack. It was about time everyone remembered that, including himself.

"Attention. On. Deck!" Every word was a sentence. His authority wrapped around everyone and everything within the sound of his voice. "NOW!"

All around him, Specialists, pilots and E.C.O.'s responded to Colonial conditioning and the fundamental respect that was afforded to someone of his rank and title.

Sweeping the assemblage with a hard eye, Tyrol watched as Captain Adama wrung the collective asses of everyone standing on his flight deck. A pool of dark hair, inert on the floor, capping a set bright orange coveralls was the reason why his hand was on the release valve of the spigot that fed the primary water hoses. If Captain Adama had let fight go on any longer, keeping Cally from medical attention, he had every intention of opening up the nozzle and spraying everyone down with enough water and pressure capable of drowning a flaming freighter.

Listening to Agathon, Katraine and Constanza be singled out and made to stay behind after the CAG dismissed everyone else, Galen wasn't surprised to see Jammer skirt the four officers and take up a spot to his left.

"Is she okay?" Tyrol asked.

"Cally? Yeah – I think so. Kat took a swing at Helo but missed. She'll have a lovely pair of black eyes for a while." Jammer commented.

Taking a good look at the Chief, Jammer couldn't help but notice how… pulled within himself Tyrol seemed to be. Barely noticing the way Kat bounced up the access stairs and headed towards the bunkrooms, he really considered what the other man could be thinking about, where his head was.

The Chief only had eyes for the CAG and Helo, who were helping Cally to her feet; each cradling an elbow as she found her balance even as the CAG pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and let her begin to wipe away the blood that had flowed from her nose.

"You okay, Chief?" Jammer asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Why?"

"Because you look like you just killed your best friend." Jammer levelled an honestly concerned look at the man he had come to know and respect.

"Not mine, Jammer."

Those three words were all he was going to say.

Still focused on the threesome making their way toward the Ready Room access to the main corridor – ostensibly to head to Sickbay – it was a long moment before Tyrol finally looked at Jammer for the first time. His eyes gave away the naked truth of the situation; the reason why Cally had control of the deck during a Cylon skirmish and how a plane as important as the Blackbird could be 'stolen' in the first place without being blown out of the sky, and be launched without anyone 'knowing' about it.

Tyrol had facilitated the need for a funeral for the one person the CAG, Helo and Cally all shared a deep connection to: Starbuck.


	16. Chapter 16: Scent of Dawn

**ANOTHER WAY: CHAPTER 16**

**The Scent of Dawn**

Ever since she had been brought on board, he had been denied access to his Kara. Number Two had taken control, with the blessing of the Ruling Seven, of the Viper pilot. Even a member of his own line had agreed to allow Two to bring her Destiny to fruitition.

He had stood by, mutely, as Kara was made to control the Raiders that were chipping away at the resolve and resources of the Human Race. Relayed communiqués from the spy network spoke of fights breaking out amongst the crew of Galactica, the growing sense of despondency in the civilian fleet the Battlestar protected and the doggedness of the governing parties to publish a façade of faith and hope. Two's strategies were working. There was no denying that Starbuck was the Wings of the Broken Dove. But was that model really doing God's Will or was he justifying keeping Kara by parading her banner in front of all his victories?

Which was why he was where he was; he needed to know what to do.

He believed that inter-species pro-creation would only bring the Cylon race closer to God and fulfilling destiny He had for His children. But, Cylons were the Children of Man – not God. In order to be a Child of God, then it was a rational conclusion that Cylon and Human had to mate, to produce an offspring, to bear a child that would be born a Child of God. One conception had already occurred. And, after realizing that her faith in a new world laid best with those of her own race, the mother of that child had returned to her people. But in the beginning, it had taken love – that evasive and indefinable essence – to achieve such a Blessing. Karl Agathon passed every test that he and his people put in front of him to prove his love for Sharon. It was not until Sharon defied her orders, broke with her brothers and sisters, essentially proving to Karl that she loved him – even though he never asked it of her – that the union God intended for Man and Cylon occurred.

His eyes snapped open as he replayed his last few thoughts.

That was it; that was what he needed to do.

Rising from the side of the pool, for once he chose not to listen to the ramblings of the Hybrid as he made his way out of the chamber. For once, he did not stay to watch the unfocused eyes of the Hybrid suddenly sharpen with lucidity and look clearly up at the ceiling of the room, as if to translate, out loud, the hieroglyphics of the stars.

"Two. Two. Two has no place when there is only One. The Blessed One will carry out her mission and bring about the Unification of The One. The Thunderbolt of Zeus will cleave Humanity's Children. Two. Two. Two has no place…"

BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG

He shouldn't have been surprised.

Even on a military ship, the events of the past few months made secrets few and far between. He should've known that someone, somewhere, would have said something to someone who would have put the pieces together. A Prisoner of War escaped her bonds, overpowered her escort, and made it to a remote airlock which happened to be large enough to launch the Blackbird. Much less the fact that the Blackbird was prepped and ready to go at the same time she made her 'escape'. Yeah – that and a storage locker full of Cottle's cigarettes would give you lung cancer.

It didn't matter that two of her four escorts were still under Cottle's care more than three days later with injuries she had inflicted. It didn't matter that a network of Cylon sympathizers had been rounded up and exposed, each member of the group fighting for air-time on the Wireless Broadcasting Network to claim responsibility for facilitating Sharon's escape. It didn't matter that Agathon, Katraine, Edmundson and Constanza were each re-lubricating launch tubes in between their already filled duties' roster as penance for fighting on the deck and sending Cally to Sickbay. It didn't matter because everyone saw through that damned hare-brained scenario that was dreamed up and hinged on a wing and prayer that no one would look too closely at the string of events leading up to the here and now.

Approaching Bill's quarters with the hopes of not drinking alone, the guards at the door opened the hatch with an edge to their efficiency. These men were loyal to Adama and would put their lives on the line for the Commander. Pausing at the threshold and not seeing anyone, he stepped back into the corridor. The clanking of it spinning shut and the lock being engaged was proof enough that the door was closed with a little more force than necessary had him thankful that those boys were on their side. Bill's guards had been on Red Alert ever since that Cylon hauled her sorry ass all the back to where she came from. That would be enough to put even the most disciplined soldier on edge.

Listening to his own footfalls as he made his way back to his quarters, he thought about the only 'good' thing to come out of this whole mess. Agathon no longer had to defend his or his Toasterette's honour with his fists. No one was muttering about Helo's ship-wide conspiracy to spring the mother of his child. Although, he could live without hearing that Eight model being made out to be a victim of 'military machinations'. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean, he snorted derisively.

Making his way to a tantalus of the Chief's Special Brew – probably the last he would get for a while – and pouring himself a couple of fingers of the clear beverage, he had to close his ears to Ellen's prattle. An absent wave of his hand was all the acknowledgement his wife was going to get as he didn't even bother to look up from the rim of his glass. His head was facing in the opposite direction as she smoothed her dress over her hips and told him she was going off ship and wouldn't be back until the morning.

Ellen's perky words to the Marines stationed outside of their quarters as she made her exit burned more than the rotgut singed his lips. Looking down his nose and expecting to see the curl to his lips as he brought the glass to his mouth, it was the mental image of Starbuck leaning back in her chair at a card table, deliberately asking, 'how's the wife?', was what he saw on the surface of his drink. Sloshing the contents around the inside of his glass made her image go away, but not the way she said those words. Guilt wasn't something he did well. He left that to the professionals like Thrace, Roslin and the Old Man's kid. But this was something else and he had some serious drinking to do before he went back out there made like everything was 'business as usual'.

Deep into his second glass, a sudden thought had him reaching for the phone and paging CIC. Recalling Bill's end of a terse phone call with the President earlier in the day had started him thinking. Bill was obviously trying to stay in this sector, but was running out of reasons. He couldn't bring dead kids back to life, but Hell. He wasn't the XO for nothing. There was still one thing he could do for his friend.

"Get me the Officer of the Watch." Pausing long enough to take another swallow from his glass, it was a moment before the fumes stopped prickling the inside of his nose.

Hearing the click of the line as it was transferred, Saul didn't bother with pleasantries.

"Mr. Gaeta, I am ordering you to find a reason to keep us at this location for as long as possible."

Bsg xxx bsg xxx bsg

He could feel it everywhere he went.

It wasn't just the stares that stuck to his back as he left a room. It wasn't just the deepened quiet that permeated CIC when he stood watch. It wasn't the way he was given just a little more berth when he walked in the corridors of his ship.

It was all of that, and then some.

It was the downcast looks that he was given when perfunctory salutes were exchanged. It was the absence of being included in private jokes when before he would have been invited to join in and share the laugh. It was the sharp turn of a heel when a crewmember took their leave of his presence.

It was unilateral disapproval emanating from every crew member the gossip mill had reached. Not to mention that Saul was getting the same treatment as well, but to a slightly lesser degree. Everyone knew who made the decisions on his ship, and that always carried a certain level of accountability. Saul didn't deserve it, but at the same time there was also nothing he could do about it.

Entering his quarters, he had no right to be disappointed that 'they' were still there. Where else would they go? It wasn't like anything had been resolved or an understanding had been reached. The words spoken in anger and self-loathing from Lee's last 'visit' were still hanging in the air.

Three steps had him standing next to a carafe of the Chief's Special Brew and a few deft hand movements had the top resettled. Picking up the tumbler and taking a sip before resting the decanter back on the tray, he sat heavily in his chair. Tossing his glasses onto his desk, he gave as much attention to the sound they made skidding across the piled paperwork as the paper work itself. Instead, he swivelled and faced his past, present and future.

Pictures marked the edges of his desk, were arranged on the sideboard and crowded the shelves of his bookcase.

Stills of Lee, Zak and Caroline when his family had been whole had their own special place on the sideboard. The two pictures of Anne, one of their wedding day and the other of her standing next to him on a receiving line at some formal function were there as well, but kept at a respectful distance from the images of Caroline and his boys. His second marriage was something only he understood. Interestingly enough, Zak was the only one who didn't judge him for it. Group shots, individual poses, and the candid moments captured on paper were the few precious escapes he had from his current reality. Sabbaticals were now isolated trips down memory lane lasting moments or the lengths of sleepless nights rather than planned leaves of absences that he could've taken a year to complete if the worlds hadn't ended.

If the worlds hadn't ended …

Now that was a sentence if he ever thought one. A deep pull on his drink also pushed aside the innuendo-laced conversation he had with Laura several hours ago that had to do with why the Fleet was still in the same location after three days.

'If the Worlds Hadn't Ended' was a game he had made himself stop playing the eighth day after the jump from Ragnar Anchorage. What was the point? It could not bring back the dead, it could not rewind time, and it could not give him the five minutes he so desperately prayed for to call Caroline and Anne to tell them that he loved them. If the worlds hadn't ended, he still would have to live the rest of his life without Zak.

On the flip-side, if the worlds hadn't ended, he wouldn't have Lee. Lee would still be treating him like a pariah. If Lee hadn't been ordered to Galactica for the decommissioning ceremony, Bill knew he would never get a chance to see the man behind the officer that so many of his peers congratulated him on raising.

If they only knew.

If they only knew that Lee virtually raised himself and his younger brother. If they only knew that Lee only went into the military reserves as a way to pay his own way through college and got his Captain's bars to spite the Old Man. If they only knew that the one thing he and Lee needed so desperately from one another was the one thing the other held back, hoarded as greedily as a miser covets his gold: approval. He never believed in empty praise offered for the sake of bolstering personal confidence. Praise was earned when doing the right thing won out over the hardest choices. Apparently, Lee defined parental disapproval by what Bill never said.

But that was changing, and all because of one person.

Kara.

Three pictures of Kara, one each in her different personas, transitioned the pictures on his sideboard to what his life was currently like.

Reaching for one of Kara, being Kara with Lee and Zak in Caroline's backyard, the frame was just as cold as his hands. Still holding it, his eyes rested on another picture, a horizontal shot that always brought a wry smile to his face whenever he looked at it. It was Starbuck, stogie in her mouth and lounging on the wing of her Viper as her freshly minted name-plate was being affixed. A velvet covered box rested in front of a photo of Lieutenant Thrace looking resplendent in set of dress greys with her formal sash firmly in place.

This one woman took away his son, gave him back his other son, and restored a piece of his soul all by just being who she was in all her perfectly flawed permutations.

No, it wasn't fair that he thought that she was responsible for Zak's death. That was a series of unfortunate events that led to Zak's life ending before it could really get started.

But she did, with her confession, free Zak's memory from being a baton each Adama man wielded without remorse.

Putting the picture of Kara and his boys back, he ran a trembling finger over the soft fabric that covered the box that Tigh had procured nearly seven weeks ago As of this moment, Bill knew he hadn't had it in him to open it up and look at the Captain's pins that would never be placed on the collars of Kara's uniforms.

And today, this night, he didn't have it in him to pry the box open.

The heft of the box weighed against the final conversation he had with Starbuck – with Kara. He told her to come home. He was willing, in that moment, to sacrifice himself and everyone else on Cloud Nine to nuclear annihilation, if she would just turn her Viper around and back away from that Heavy Raider. But she took that away from him. She defied him. She was locked into a high-risk card game with Castor and willingly let him stack the deck against her. She had all the cards he was going to give her and held onto her trump – herself – until the very last moment.

Why didn't she just do what she was told!

All the backlash he had been stoically enduring over the past several days came crashing down at once and all he could do was reflexively clutch the velvet box until the hinges creaked.

Casting his mental eye along every corridor on Galactica, projecting his thoughts out to every ship in the Fleet and trying to touch the minds of the nearly fifty-thousand people he was sworn to protect a swell of hurt-born anger rattled his heart. How dare they judge him! Didn't these people know that doing what he did, that he signed off on the mission to kill one of his own children, was for them?

His eyes falling on Zak, his gaze switching to Kara's visage and Lee's disparaging words echoing in the one room he had to eat, sleep, work and live, his arm pulled back and before he knew what happened, Kara's black box flew across the room. The sound of metal bouncing off of the carpet was the pins separating from their mountings. Lee was going blame him for Kara's death the same way Lee blamed him for killing Zak.

Finding the box, it was only a couple of seconds before he found the pair of gold signets.

Palming them, he stood up, aged ten years and faced his future with the same amount of resolve he used to shut the door to the past and make himself live in the present.

He would not regret sending Sharon. He couldn't. The survival of the human race depended on it.

He couldn't deny that this time, Lee's anger was justifiable. He hoped that Apollo would learn to fly to with another wingman, even if that pilot would never be a match for him like Starbuck. The only common ground that he prayed still existed between him and Captain Adama – that would transfer to the rest of the Fleet through the same channels they all found out about Starbuck – was that he put his own needs behind that which necessitated Humanities survival.

Frak. Taking another gulp, he rolled his eyes at himself. Now he sounded like one of Laura's 'spin machine' talking heads.

He needed sleep. No. He needed his daughter. But that wasn't going to happen. Not now, not ever. Not unless the Lords of Kobol stretched out their hands and took a vested interest in human events.

But then again, if the Gods didn't stop the end of the worlds, why would they care about the life of just one pilot?

Even if the time of the Gods wasn't over, Man could not let blind faith be his only course of action when faced with adversity. After all, if The Gods still existed and if the Gods still wanted to be worshipped and have devotions to them declared, and then there had to be people alive to do so.

If the Gods had a problem with the way he was doing things, they were free to step in and give him a hand. Lords know, he asked them often enough.

The ringing of the telephone had him pushing off of his bed and haltingly stepped up to the side of his desk. The clock on the wall showed that First Shift was just a couple of hours away, he had fallen asleep with his uniform on and his shoes still tied.

"Sir, Lieutenant Gaeta here."

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Those two words worked their way over his over-sized tongue.

"CAP report just came in. In reviewing the scans, there is a nearby moon that has rich deposits of a refinable ore – and given our state of lack of available gross resources – which is compatible with our…"

Cutting Gaeta off, Bill stopped the younger man in mid-sentence, "Twenty-five words or less, if you please, Mr. Gaeta. It's too early for anything else."

"There's a metal on a nearby moon that we can use to fix the Fleet. All we have to do is go and get it." Gaeta reported matter-of-factly, stumbling slightly over the phrase, 'fix the fleet'.

Glancing at a file-folder containing the report on the number of downed Raptors, Vipers and civilian ships structurally challenged by metal fatigue, he made an executive decision.

"Make it so, Mr. Gaeta. Inform the CAG and notify the Chief. Contact the mining ship and get them on it. We cannot lose this opportunity." A spark of hope lit his over-tired eyes.

The public pressure to stay and refine the ore into valuable metal would force Laura to agree to stay where they were for at least several more days. He promised Sharon that the Fleet would wait seven days for her. He might have to live the rest of his life without two of his three children, but he could do everything in his power to make sure Helo never had to know what it was like to lose a child to circumstance.

"Yes, Sir," Gaeta agreed.

Thinking about his earlier musings, Bill knew Felix wasn't Lee, but the younger Tactical Officer at least a place to start.

"Well done, Mr. Gaeta."

BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG

By God, she was beautiful.

He could sit there and watch her for hours. Actually, he already had. Sitting on the floor, just outside of the barrier that prevented her from escaping, he watched her as she feigned sleep.

Yes, he knew his Persephone. He knew when she was asleep, because that was when her nightmares surfaced. He knew when she was awake, because that was when she pushed herself into exercising in the hopes of making her body and mind too exhausted to dream. He knew when that Eight model came to escort Persephone to the sanitary facilities. But her, laying on the floor, wearing the clothes he had picked out for her, resting her head on her hands and her eyes closed was nothing but a ruse.

So he waited.

And he remembered. Choosing one of his fondest memories, he shut his eyes and relived the moment when he changed Kara's name to Persephone.

Walking along the shoreline together while on a three-day pass to Aquaria, the water lapping at their ankles as they laughingly tried to play a game of 'Keep Away' between their feet and the lightly crashing surf, he caught her looking at him with this incredibly hesitant expression on her face. Reaching out, she traced his jaw line and trailed the pads of her fingers down the side of his neck. In a voice only slightly louder than the waves breaking against the sand, she told him that she felt like she had spent her life in darkness. Until now; now she felt like she was going to begin the second half of her life living in the light. It was in that moment that something gripped him, something that could only have come from the Grace of God, and he asked her to marry him. He pulled off the simple silver band he wore, his grandfather's wedding ring, off his right hand and held it out to her. A smile broke out across her face and she nodded. It took a couple of tries, but when the band slipped over the knuckle of her thumb it looked like it was meant to be there. But in typical Kara style, she masked her emotions with a quip. She said she would, but did she really have to give up her name? As it stood, she was the only Thrace on the flight log books versus the three entries all with the same name: Adama.

Hiding his own smile, Zak remembered watching the scared look in her eyes when he nodded his head up and down solemnly before clueing her in as to why his eyes began to sparkle, shining with his inner happiness. He told her that she had to leave the name Kara behind and that she had to get used to being called Persephone. With that, she smiled. Sunlight caught her hair and flashed in her teeth. She teased him about getting 'in touch' with his 'inner Goddess' and that Demeter would be a great call sign when he got his wings. Pulling her in close for a kiss, tasting the brine and beach that flavoured her mouth, he shook his head again – but this time in the opposite direction. He said that she had it wrong. Persephone escaped her overbearing, domineering mother to find the kind of love she always deserved in the arms of the God of the Underworld, and that was where her true happiness dwelled. He knew he reached the real Kara in that moment because a single, small tear that slipped out of her eye and ran the length of the slope of her sun-warmed cheek. And the fact that she grabbed him by his waist and he allowed her to wrestle him deeper into the water until they both lost their footing and a crashing wave swamped them both. Coming up for air, flinging wet hair in every direction, she swam up to him and kissed away every drop of salt water that clung to his face.

With that, he knew that his mission was complete. Zak had done the hard work of getting past Lieutenant Thrace. Once the switch had been made, he had the even tougher job of getting past the even more formidable defences of Starbuck. And for one glorious moment, he did. He reached her and found out what was so special about love.

But that was the only moment he got. No matter how he tried, no matter how satisfying the physical side of their relationship was, no matter how much he delved into the character he was playing – until he actually became Zak Adama – something was holding her back to the point where it was decided that Kara did love him, just in a way that was unique unto herself. To dispel any murmurings, especially from the Fives – Leoben models – a test was created.

Kara's final test – much like the one he read about in the dossier pertaining to Karl Agathon and the Eight model who called herself Sharon – was something he was sure she was going to pass. After all, it was he who took the call from the base's Infirmary confirming Kara's appointment for a blood test just days after he found a home pregnancy test in the bathroom trash. Doing the math, he traced the point of conception to that long weekend on Aquaria.

As his Flight Instructor, it was Kara's job to make sure that everyone of her nuggets deserved to be in a plane. Deliberately failing to do four manoeuvres correctly during his check ride, he waited to see if Kara loved him enough to fail him, or if Starbuck and Lt. Thrace would justify passing him on the pretence of loyalty and Adama family honour. Did she love him enough to make sure he came home to her? Or, did she only think she loved him, and because of that, allow all the other stuff he threw at her – his family's expectations, the way he looked up to Lee, how the Old Man was kind of man he wanted to be, how important it was to him to fly – to sway her decision?

When she didn't immediately throw her arms around him when he walked into her off-base apartment on Picon that night, he knew something was wrong. When she insisted that they go out instead of stay in and celebrate that was the second sign that something was up. Making love to her body, the sensation of her saying, 'I'm sorry,' as she rose to meet every physical pleasure he gave her with sensual gift of her own reverberated down his spine. Even when he pumped every ounce of everything he had into her, he still had to be the one who asked her how he did. It took everything else he had left not to let her see the disappointment in his face and body when she glibly told him he passed – by the skin of his teeth, but he passed.

His Kara did not love him. The child was his, created out of that perfect night of love, but she did not truly love him. Something – someone else – ruled her heart. That is why plans had be scrapped, lines of thought re-drafted and self-imposed exile had been necessary.

A warm, comforting hand coming to rest on his shoulder brought Zak – because that was who he was – out of his reverie. He didn't have to look to know who it was; he could tell by the soothing presence the other man provided who stood behind him.

"How are you doing?" Simon asked.

"Fine." His returning gaze was honest and open. Of all the models, he had the most in common with Simon and Six.

"Just be careful not to get too close. Or get eye strain. If anything happens to you, there aren't any other models to download you into." Watching Simon flit his eyes between where Starbuck was on the floor, the barrier that made up a wall of her cell and were he sat, Simon sounded a lot like Lee did when giving his little brother Zak a few words of advice. "Remember that. I'll be back to check on her later."

Nodding in agreement, he indulged Simon's bedside manner. Turning his head and saying goodbye to the other model, Zak never saw Starbuck open her eyes or the feral look that locked every muscle between her hair-line and chin into place before having to go back to pretending to be asleep.

One aspect of Colonial training mandated that everyone – friend or foe – had a weakness. It was just a matter of finding it. Sometimes it was a psychological hang up. Sometimes, if you were very lucky, it was a physical affliction you could exploit. It all came down to being patient enough to find it. She had killed a Simon, a Raider and a Six with her bare hands. Adding a Zak to the list could be done.

She just had to make sure she could do it without destroying herself in the process.

Keeping 'the ball' in her 'possession', she didn't open her eyes when she addressed Zak.

"What do you want?"

"You," his answer was simple and straightforward – to anyone who wasn't them.

"You have me." Not shifting a muscled, she countered, "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. So what's with making like I'm some zoo exhibit?"

"No, I don't. If I did, we wouldn't be here now."

If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that he sounded apologetic while at the same time insinuating that had happened to her was her fault. Frak that. Granted some days she might not know which way was up, and the very real possibility of never sleeping again made her already raw eyes burn more intensely, but if he thought he was going to lay this on her head, he had another thing coming. If he was going to play the Blame Game, the least he could've done was taken a page from a book written by a master; her mother. Compared to her, he was child trying to fit into a pair of her high heeled shoes. And, he needed to know that – in no uncertain terms.

"You are insane."

"And you are beyond insane."

She didn't have an answer for that. One couldn't argue the truth.

Oh frak! Did he say, 'beyond insane'?

That had her sitting up and crossing her ankles underneath the crook of her knees.

"Where did you hear that?" She had to know.

"I have my ways," he said cryptically. That is, before he levelled a pointed look at her. "Kara, have you ever wondered why we always seem to find you?"

"If you are gonna to try to pin that on me too, you're way more damaged than your little playmates already think you are." Two can play the 'mind-frak' game. Not that it took a genius to figure out that 'we' were Cylons and 'you' were Colonials.

"Spies, Kara." His words were patronizing. "Every war has them." Shifting his position until he matched hers, he started again. "Kara, why do you think your Fleet has lasted this long?"

"S. T. A. R. B. U. C. K. My name is Starbuck. If you call me anything else, we're done – right here, right now." Kara ground out.

"Why do you think your worlds were annihilated?" Zak went on as if she hadn't said a word. "Why would machines that operate on logic and numbers keep throwing resources and materials at the same group of individuals only to be rebuffed time and again if all we wanted to do was to kill every single one of you?"

"Because you're all mad; someone slipped your processors into overdrive and then went on a permanent coffee break."

"Think, Starbuck! If we are programmed to kill, then we'd be failing our programming – right? What would happen to a computer if it could not do its job – huh?"

She didn't want to go where he was leading her. She didn't want to acknowledge the deeper fears that crested in the darker moments when the questions of 'how' and 'why', and 'why don't they just stop', made her thump the roof of her bunk in anger fuelled frustration.

"The decision to bomb the Colonies was deliberate. Humans are like livestock. Once ensconced on a farm, they won't leave unless you make them. Or, give them a reason. So, we gave you a reason to leave. We made you abandon your lives and let natural selection take its course. Only the strongest, the luckiest and those pre-destined would survive."

"You wanted survivors…" Kara's voice trailed off as realization closed off her larynx.

"If you couldn't go home and you needed fifty-thousand people from twelve different worlds to agree on one place to resettle without argument, Starbuck – where would you go?"

The word Earth exploded in her mind. Sharon's words about how the Cylons knew more about Colonial religion than Colonials did bounced between her ears.

"If it was our intention to eradicate the human race, Starbuck – annihilating the Colonies would leave our mission incomplete." Zak's pride in the Cylon plan was evident in every word he spoke. "It was a very simple strategy based on a very basic primal instinct. When running away from something, you always have an end destination in mind. Running away from danger means you head towards safety. We made you run and gave you the tools to pick the only logical destination. Why do you think the Galactica was the only Battlestar to survive the initial attacks? Why do you think a group of forty-plus ships with engine and reactor signatures that could be traced for thousands of parsecs always seem to get away at the last possible moment?"

"So – you chase us – keeping us in an ever present state of alert. Subject us to cruelty – contrary to the 'teachings' of your 'God' – all so that we will lead you to Earth?" She had heard it once from his own mouth, but needed to say it again to make it real.

"No, you misunderstand me. God is love. Humans spurn His love for the sake of their false Gods and Idols. It is through His Grace that His Peace will spread through out your people and bring you the ever-lasting life that comes with living for eternity in His Hands. The only way to deliver them unto Him is on the Wings of a Broken Dove. For you see, Starbuck – you are His Instrument because you are the Broken Dove. Now, with you doing God's will, the Fleet will be pressed to push their way to Earth on an accelerated time table." Every word he said was steeped in conviction absolute.

"You are a frakked-up monster." Kara bit out.

"Nice to see that you haven't changed all that much, Starbuck," Zak commented wryly. Her insult meant nothing to him, but this whole session hadn't been about him to begin with. "Always fighting, never loving. It was always up for debate just how much you loved me."

"I never loved you. I loved Zak. He was the man I loved and he wasn't a machine. IT WAS NEVER YOU!" The last four words exploded out her mouth.

"Yes, you did. I was there, remember? No, you're angry because the truth hurts and you can't make it a lie, an untruth or be a victim of some twisted plot." Zak patiently explained.

"Yes. I. Was." Starbuck was shaking with the intensity of the emotions rolling through her.

"If you never loved me, Starbuck – then how do you explain the baby we conceived?" He threw a logic bomb right at her emotional core.

"What?!" Years of hurt exploded as his logic bomb detonated. "What baby?"

"Don't lie to me. I was the one who took that call from the Infirmary confirming your pregnancy test."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Honest confusion narrowed her eyes.

"A couple of weeks after we got back from Aquaria, remember?" Zak prompted. "Your cycle was late…"

"You were tracking my frakking periods?" Sudden realization made her narrowed eyes pop wide open. "That? That was what you've been talking about? Sorry to burst your Happy-Daddy bubble, but I was never pregnant. I was worried, I went for a test but it came back negative. I had a mild case of food poisoning that was slow in leaving my system." Seeing nothing but scepticism on his face she rallied. "You died before you checked, didn't you?

Hearing the sincerity in her words as her eyes flashed with the distant memory, he attacked her faith in what and who she cared about the most.

"If you want someone to blame, blame the Gods you worship. They foretold of your coming, Starbuck. You are there, in your precious Scriptures. All we had to do was be at the right place at the right time and wait for you to appear. Why do you think it took forty years to put our plan into action?" Zak queried. Seeing the dumbstruck look on her face, he cut the last tether she was holding on to. "And don't idolize the dead, Starbuck. Not that he didn't genuinely come to care about you, but why do you think a man like Zak Adama would deliberately set out to seduce his Flight Instructor?"

"HE LOVED ME!" Starbuck surged to her feet only to wobble once she was fully upright.

"That was me, Starbuck. ME. I loved you and I thought you loved me too!"

"YOU LIE!"

"I was the one who proposed to you on Aquaria. I was the one who put that ring on your thumb. I was the one you killed because you didn't love me enough to keep me from where I didn't belong!"

"GET OUT!"

"Adama was the one who gave him the idea, Starbuck, by marrying a woman who had connections." It was odd to talk about another man while at the same time, referring to himself in the third person. But the fact that he was getting to Starbuck, making her react after all this time, was too much of an incentive to stop now. "Adama wanted his career back and Zak slept with his teacher in order to make sure he passed Basic Flight. All that has happened before will happen again."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Kara clapped her hands over her ears and doubled over. His words could still be heard and her stomach threatened to open.

"You don't believe me – ask Lee. He'll tell you." Zak replied. There was no fear in his voice of being contradicted. He had read Zak's personal logs. It was all there in block-print letters.

"You leave him out of this! Both of them, do you hear me!" The initial panic she felt had waned. All that was left was violent fury, which had her snapping her head side to side as Zak's words sunk in and registered in her thrumming brain. "No. That's impossible. I'll never see Lee again…"

"He will be joining you shortly, Starbuck. It will only be a matter of time."

He knew the minute he over played his hand because that was when Starbuck lifted her head and Kara was shuttered away.

"Over. My. Dead. Body. You. Frakker." Starbuck was beyond seething. She felt an eerie kind of calm come over her, as if Artemis and Athena each had a hand on one of her shoulders and was guiding her along the narrow path of safety through the emotional anguish of the past twenty minutes. Through the Goddesses, she found the strength to stand straight and tall.

Lee and Adama were the reason why she had endured. They were the reason why she made sure that Zak and Simon's attentions stayed fixated on her. If it ever got back to the Old Man and Lee that Zak was a Cylon, it would break each of them. That's why she couldn't die. If she did, if he lost interest in her, Zak's eyes would naturally turn to the surviving 'members' of his 'family'. Lee's world would fall out from underneath him so fast that he would bounce when he hit bottom. Adama would lose his command, the one thing he held onto as preciously as he did Lee and Zak. Neither man would be the same person she trusted the Gods to take care of. She had splintered the Adama family once before, but she'd be damned if she was going to let it happen again. If that meant succumbing to Three's lash, then so be it. If that meant being forced into that chair time and again, so be it. At least there, she had a little bit of control as to prevent anyone else from dying by putting into play a 'destruction only' game plan. The Fleet would tear itself apart beginning at the top and working its way down to the most inconsequential ship in the group. But if Zak was going to change the rules half way through the game, then he had better be prepared for every contingency. Her life was forfeit. She knew that. But Lee and Adama's were not up for grabs. Not now, not ever.

An ethereal presence settled over his Persephone right before his eyes. Where fury and panic once held an iron grip, now there was a kind of power rippling through her that he had only seen glimpses of when she was engaged in battle. He watched, transfixed, as she brought the fleshy part of her right thumb to her mouth and bit down hard enough to draw blood. He stood motionless as with a flick of her wrist, precious drops fell on the floor of her cell and – impossibly – flew through the electronic barrier that protected him from her to land on his cheek and chest.

"I invoked Blood Rites on this BaseStar and the Heavy Raider that brought me here. Now, I invoke Blood Rites against you. As Athena and Artemis are my witnesses, I swear on the Altar of Ares that you will die by my hand before you even get close to Lee Adama or his father."

For the first time in a long time, Zak could not feel the soothing Hand of God on his brow. Mentally shaking his head, he replayed the past few minutes. A single woman, broken in body and psychologically shaken with nothing to lose, just promised to bring down a BaseStar, destroy a Heavy Raider and kill him sans a weapon or ally in sight. She was delusional. She had to be. How else could he explain what she just said? But what about the flecks of blood he could feel drying on his cheeks and marking his shirt? There was a rational reason for that as well. She flicked her wrist at the exact same time the barrier cycled. That one micro-second was all that was needed to get the droplets past the barrier and onto him.

He could not, in good conscious, leave God's Instrument entertaining thoughts of grandeur. That would be mean.

"You and what army, Starbuck," Zak clarified just how ridiculous her oath sounded.

He wasn't prepared for the conviction that dominated every letter of her next nine words.

"Me, myself and I – I don't need anyone else."

Not wanting her to get the last words, he nodded sagely.

"So be it, Starbuck."

"So be it, Number Two."

Staring each other down, it was Zak who looked away first. That was because a discreet cough broke his concentration.

Turning his head, he made eye contact with Number Three. D'Anna was right on time for Kara's – Starbuck's – next appointment.

"Am I interrupting something?" She asked, her question barely hiding the need to know what had made the air so thick with tension.

Smiling easily, Zak took two steps backwards and let D'Anna and the accompanying Centurion stand in front of the barrier. "No, not at all. We had just finished up, actually. She is all yours."

Letting D'Anna get on with the business of trussing Starbuck for transport to the 're-education area', Zak walked away but stopped just before he took the corner and called out on last thing to the two blonde women.

"Have fun."

Laughing lightly all the way down the hall, he knew his Persephone was back when he heard her answer.

"Oh, we will."


	17. Chapter 17: Red Sky in the Morn

**Author's Notes: VERY SPECIAL THANK YOU to sbz for her wonderful beta work! You so Rock!**

**Author's Notes II: This chapter picks up three hours after Chapter 16 ends...**

**Another Way Chapter 17**

**Red in the Morning, Sailors Take Warning**

_Three hours later…_

It took a cold eye to appreciate the calculated efficiency that Three used to stripe the Colonial pilot as she hung; manacles bound her wrists suspended from a hook high over her head.

Looking on without being seen, twenty-five seemed to be the magic number. The first five lashes were like a warm up where D'Anna found her grip, measured her reach and stretched out her shoulders. By lash number ten, the whip started to loosen and the sound of it splitting the air and separating Starbuck's skin changed to a slightly deeper resonance. Lash fifteen brought a shimmer to the Cylon's brow and clamminess to Kara's body. Right round lash twenty was when the blonde human stopped using her breath for taunts and instead breathed each impact through her nose. That was also the time when a feral light would begin to glow in Three's eyes and she would use her hips to power her arms and cut into the more delicate areas of her prisoner's body – the obliques, the stretch of skin normally protected when arms rested naturally against the side of the body and the tender insides of the thighs. By lash twenty-five, she had to stop. To go any further would push the woman she was trying to bring to God into unconsciousness.

More than once, D'Anna gave thanks for the recuperative powers that humans possessed and to God for blessing her, His Servant, with the gift of being ambidextrous.

Hanging back, leaning against the entryway, Sharon watched as Three stripped off her fashionable outer jacket and swung her arms in wide circles to keep her muscles warm as she waited for Starbuck to rouse.

Three days she had been on the BaseStar and this was the first time she saw Starbuck alone with another Model. Let alone without a Centurion standing guard. Now, she could see why. Kara was in no condition to fight back. In fact, it was all the other woman could do to stay alive and alert enough to bring herself back to the present when D'Anna resumed the 'Spiritual Cleansing' that was going to deliver the Colonial warrior's soul to God.

"Who is the One True God, heathen?" Three demanded.

Not getting a response, she watched D'Anna stride up to Starbuck. Sharon felt a cold hand clench her stomach as her fellow Cylon grabbed a hunk of Kara's hair and yanked the bound woman's head so that she could force the shorter woman to meet her eyes.

"Answer me!"

Sharon couldn't tell if Kara opened her eyes or not, but she could just barely make out what she said.

"Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Hades, Demeter, Apollo, Artemis, Ares, Aphrodite, Hestia, Dionysus, Hephaestus, and Hermes, you frakwit."

"Wrong answer, human! Let's try this again, shall we?" D'Anna seethed. "What are His commandments?"

"There are no commandments. Each of us is to abide by the Sacraments that the Gods mandate." Kara slowly said. The effort to form each word was etched in every syllable that came out of her mouth.

"Looks like someone wasn't paying attention when class was in session, were they?" Three's rhetorical question put an evil smile on her lips. "Let's start again, shall we, Starbuck?"

Sharon couldn't watch as D'Anna lunged forward ten times and with every lunge itemized a commandment. She found herself digging her nails into her palms to keep herself from retching when another seven cracks of the whip were interspersed with D'Anna calling out each of the Deadly Sins. It was with disgust in her heart at how far from God D'Anna had actually fallen that helped her release her clenched fingers and raise her head. She could do it now. She could kill her sister-Cylon and pray that in her next resurrection, Three would be healed of the corruption that dwelled in her heart.

About to step forward, a strong hand clamped down on her shoulder.

Stifling a sharp cry, Sharon took her eyes off of her fellow Cylon snapping out eight more lashes and swung her head. Her brown eyes fell level with a pair of blue eyes – Leoben's eyes.

Reading the pain that shone in his face, she could tell he was deeply affected by what was taking place. But for all the other selfish reasons that had nothing to do with Thrace's redemption; he wanted to be the one to bring Kara to God by demonstrating that the love that he had for her came from God and that they would fulfil His plans for each of them by living in harmony – together.

His motivations were just as cruel and self-motivating as Three's, but came from a different direction. But she had no time to think of that now. What she had to do was mask her intentions with something he would believe.

"Don't. Not yet. Now is not the time." Leoben cautioned even as D'Anna could be heard quizzing Starbuck for a second time.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sharon prayed that her face did not give away what she had been about to do.

"Yes you do. Because I want to do the same thing every time this takes place," Leoben said regretfully. "But for now, we must wait. Our time will come when we will be able to show Kara just what it means to be in God's Hands."

Having no choice but to let him steer her away from where the crack of D'Anna's whip could be heard starting a fresh round of lashes, Sharon closed her ears to sound.

Leaving Starbuck here at the mercy of Three, Simon and another Model she hadn't seen yet was out of the question. Knowing that Leoben was waiting for his opportunity to 'liberate' Kara for his own ends was something that could not happen either. Though, it was something to ponder. If Leoben was going to 'rescue' his Kara, then he had to have a plan. For a plan to work, that meant that he had to have means. And for him to have means, that meant that he had to have already implemented some of those components to get her away from his fellow Cylon brothers and sisters. With those components already set in motion, then there should be every reason why she, Sharon, should be able to get Kara off the BaseStar using the very same plan Leoben had devised.

The restlessness in her heart, the quarrel between the right thing to do – following through with her mission directive – and the right thing to do – save Starbuck – stopped. Random thoughts, heated debates and the vehement arguments suddenly ceased.

Separating from Leoben at the doorway to the nearest Prayer Alcove, Sharon slipped into the room and sat as close to the front as possible and began to pray.

She prayed for His Hand to guide her in bringing Starbuck back to her people alive.

bsg xxx bsg xxx bsg xxx bsg

_Twenty-two hours later…_

Racing for the Raptor, Cally prayed that the Chief wouldn't have 'just one more thing' to add to her already extensive list of things to do. Clipboard firmly clamped underneath her arm, she accepted Helo's hand as he helped up onto the shell of the bird. Normally, she didn't have a problem jumping up and finding her footing, but this was the third Raptor ride in nine hours. As it was, as Racetrack lifted off the surface of the moon, Cally felt the quart of water she swigged prior to leaving the mining sites threaten to rise out of her stomach.

Breaking the atmosphere and feeling the engines kick in to shake the gravitational pull, Galactica hung like a protective umbrella against the star-filled expanse of space. With only the mining ship and a few ships hovering nearby as support vessels, she had to remind herself that the majority of the Fleet had been sent onto the next jump-point along with two-thirds of the Viper squadron as escort. The remaining combat planes were logging some serious flight time as Apollo deployed what pilots he had to cover as many of the blind-spots as he could.

The slight shuddering of the of the inertia dampeners firing sent a chill down her spine. Apollo was good, but he was so by the book. With such an unorthodox situation, she really wished that Starbuck was up there watching everyone's collective back.

Hearing the Raptor hit the trap and the mag-locks engage, she was on the hanger deck before the goose bumps on her back receded. An absent nod to Racetrack and a brief but distant smile for Helo was all she had time for as she climbed up the access stairs, holding onto the railing as her balance had not yet returned.

Knowing where the companionway hatch was rather than seeing it got her out into the corridor as she started flipping through the pages on her clipboard.

Walking and talking – to herself – she could do. Walking and talking to herself while mentally trying to decipher the Chief's scrawl was something she had done in the past with a reasonable amount of success. Trying to do it all while navigating the crowed hallways of main corridors was another matter, which was why she never saw the chest she bounced off of until her clipboard clattered to the deck and she stumbled backwards a couple of feet.

"Sorry, didn't watch where I was going." Her apology was spoken to whomever she ploughed into even as she dropped one knee to the floor and started picking up her papers.

"Apparently; care to tell me why I'm seeing you back on this ship when I just saw you here two hours ago, Specialist?" Adama's gruff voice carried over her head.

"Commander – I'm sorry. I didn't see you there." Looking at the one person who she didn't want to run unto – literally – Cally's eyes widened with sincerity.

"I think we already established that, Cally."

Seeing him look at her appraisingly, she knew he was looking at her two black eyes and still swollen nose that had earned her a night in sickbay and another day confined to her rack as she recuperated from a minor concussion she incurred when her head hit the hanger deck. "It's not as bad as it looks, Sir. Doc Cottle said that it'll take a few more days before everything goes away."

Nodding at the doctor's assessment, Adama looked at her expectantly. "Are you going to answer my question, Specialist?"

"Yes, Sir." Blushing for some Gods-only-knew-why reason, she said, "The Chief sent me back up here with another 'shopping' list."

The hint of exasperation in her voice had Adama casting an evaluating look in her direction.

"Before you attended to your duties, I would appreciate it if you would report to my quarters in a half an hour."

"Yes, Sir – I'll be there." Snapping her hand to her brow, she gave the Commander a salute as she waited to be dismissed.

"Carry on, Specialist." Returning her salute and stepping around her, she smiled when he paused in mid-stride and said, just loud enough for her to hear, "And try not to collide with anyone else while you're on board. I like the idea of feeling 'special'; that I was the only one you bumped into today."

Put at ease, she smiled. He was a demanding officer to crew for, but he wasn't any harder on them than he was on himself. Nor was he above the little bits of levity that came with day-to-day living with two thousand people.

bsg xxx bsg

One meeting and two hours later, Cally found herself standing in front of the same Raptor she arrived in on. Only this time she was surrounded by containers of supplies the Chief had requisitioned.

Stepping up onto the skid-board and triggering the hatch, she hopped back down off the Raptor and sucked in a breath. There was a lot of equipment to load and almost no one to help her. Just her luck – whatever team the Commander had organized to drop off the goods had long since gone.

"Oh well – been there, done that," she muttered under her breath as she reached for the first box. It wasn't the first time she had to transfer equipment by herself, and it probably wouldn't be the last either.

Working up a good sweat by lifting, loading, arranging and re-stacking the goods on the Raptor, she automatically reached for the next box. Barely noticing that she couldn't see over the top of it, she wrapped her arms around it and frowned when it wouldn't move. Bending at the knees and getting a good grip with her forearms, she tried again. This time the box separated from the pile easily. Not thinking about it, she walked it over to the side of the Raptor and set it down. About to hop up on the wing, someone beat her to it.

A pair of blue eyes with the arms of a flight suit tied around his waist was already jockeying the bulky box into the storage compartment.

It was Apollo.

Satisfied with its placement, he turned around. Touching his eyes with hers, he smiled lightly. "One intelligent octopus reporting for duty as ordered, Ma'am."

Swiping at the sweat on her forehead with the sleeve of her coveralls, Cally should've been surprised but she wasn't – especially when a deeper voice sounded behind her. "Make that two intelligent octopuses reporting for duty."

Wrinkling her eyebrows at Helo, her mouth opened before her tact filter re-scripted her words. "Who said you were intelligent?"

"Alright – I'll give you that. But you gotta admit that out of the two of us, I'm stronger and prettier than he is." Going with the moment – and the look on Cally's face – Helo reached for another box and all but shoved it at Apollo to keep him from building on Cally's comment. Yeah, he might be her superior officer, and Lee outranked them both, but it was good to see the younger woman let down her guard a little bit.

"Hey – the only one who's prettier than me is the Old Man," Apollo said, hefting the box and finding a 'home' for it on board. Just because he wasn't happy with his father at the moment or respected the decision his commanding officer made didn't mean Apollo couldn't give credit where credit was due.

Saving their energy for stowing the remaining items on board the Raptor, between the three of them every thing was loaded quickly. None of them noticed D'Anna Biers, Fleet Reporter, slink out of the hanger bay.

Sliding the last container into place, Cally went to thank Helo and Apollo for their help when she noticed the two men shrugging into the sleeves of their flight suits and doing up the buckles.

Grabbing two helmets, Helo tossed one to Apollo and hooked his fingers underneath the chin guard on the one he kept for himself as he closed the hatch and started the pre-flight sequence. Letting Cally secure his collar and deftly attach his helmet, he listened to Apollo explain why they were there in the first place.

"Got reassigned; heard that there's a certain Chief that has more work than he could handle. Helo and I will be overseeing the logistical side of the mining operation so that the Chief can focus on the actually mining, refining and fabricating what we need." There was no malice or innuendo that the Chief was in over his head in Apollo's voice. He and the Chief clashed on a regular basis, but each had an abiding respect for the other when it came to doing their respective jobs. Apollo could not be in the air if the Chief didn't maintain his Viper and Captain Adama could not co-ordinate protecting the Fleet if there weren't birds to fly.

Typing in the sequences to power up the Raptor and hailing the LSO for launch approval, Helo picked up where Apollo left off as Cally secured the CAG's collar and made the seal to the his helmet air-tight. "Actually, I was assigned to manage the logistics. Apollo here is going to be running the CAPs and orbital sweeps from the ground. Gaeta seems to think that he can cover more blind-spots moon-side than in actual orbit, and the Commander agrees." Catching Apollo's eyes with a smirk, Helo added, "That and the fact that his Mark VII is in need of a new power coupling that we don't have at the moment. So it's either having him breathing in good air that those in CIC could use later on in life, or actually ship him somewhere he could do some good."

It wasn't often Karl found himself with a duty that all but erased the difference in rank between him and the CAG. Now, he could see why Starbuck loved frakking with Apollo so much. That is, when Lee and Captain Adama decided to let Apollo out for a while. Having spent so much time with the other man, he was now able to see the connection Lee and Kara shared more clearly. For two people who looked like they couldn't be more different, the opposite was true. Rarely did he see two people more alike, but in ways that filled in the gaps the other possessed. And, just in case he hadn't thought it before, it was fun frakking with Apollo. The slightly younger man took his banter with the grain of salt it was intended and didn't hesitate to return one good jibe with one of his own.

"Yeah, Cally – keep in mind that Logistical Officer translates to Executive Grunt Monkey once we land." Apollo shot back without missing a beat.

Too tired to keep up with the boys' verbal sparing, Cally leaned back further into the co-pilot's chair. With Apollo at the controls and Helo at the ECO station, she didn't worry about not wearing a flight suit. They would get her back to that moon in one piece. The way the Chief said "Oh yes, you will," when Kat got in his face and said that there was no way she was going to pull five extra maintenance shifts in five days was still fresh in everyone's minds. Nobody was going to frak with him nor was the Chief going to let anyone frak with her. A hint of a smile played along the corners of her mouth. The Chief was learning to talk in a language other than Viper and his grasp on its nuances was expanding every day.

No sooner had her eyes drifted close then the familiar billowing of dust that marked the Raptor's landing filled the view ports. A soft touch to her shoulder by Helo, "Time to go," had her unbuckling her harness and clambering out of the hatch.

The moon was just as she left it. Dry, barren and still that wonderful orange colour that clashed with everything that touched its surface. The familiar taste of the slightly elevated – but breathable – levels of sulphur collected at the back of her throat. That was one thing she was grateful for; the air was breathable and the gravity was just a notch lighter than that of Galactica. Being able to work without needing an environmental suit was definitely a 'plus'.

Accepting the first box Helo rested in her outstretched arms as he and Apollo manoeuvred one of the larger crates out of the storage compartment, she set her load on the ground even as she called for others to come and help. Waiting for those nearby to come closer, she took one more look at the sky. Picking out the slow-moving pin-prick of light that was the Battlestar, and the faster moving burns of Vipers on patrol, her earlier musings came back in a rush.

Wiping a tear from her eye, she caught a pair of green eyes and a pair of blue eyes watching her intently. Then it clicked into place why the two men bantered all the way from Galactica. They were making up for the lack of Starbuck's pervasive comm chatter.

"I was just wishing that she was up there watching our backs." Shaking her head and clearing the sad look off her face, she shrugged her shoulders at the two men. "That's all."

Nodding in understanding, Helo's expression became solemn. "So do I, Cally."

"That's one thing I don't have to guess at, Cally." From his crouched position, Apollo swivelled his hips, craned his neck and scanned the sky. From where she was standing on the ground, Cally could see a long-ago memory play out along the lines of his body. Surprising them both, his mouth quirked with some sort of 'given knowledge' that hugged the corners of his lips even as he kept his face turned to the heavens. "She will always have my six. She promised me."

Cally couldn't find it within her to begrudge Apollo's quiet declaration and by the lack of comeback from Helo, neither did he. And, whether she wanted it to or not, night was going to follow day. It was the way of the universe.

She did find it within her to offer up a little prayer to the Gods in light of Apollo's words.

_So say we all…_

BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG

_Four hours later…_

Aaron Doral looked up from his console and touched eyes with his fellow Models.

"Word just came in from our spy in the human Fleet. We know where they are."

Number Six was the first to cast her vote. "We go."

D'Anna nodded her head in agreement.

Leoben looked around the table before adding, "We go."

Simon, his hands in the Living Water, was the last to offer his thoughts. "We go."

Across the BaseStar, Zak lifted his head and took in the information that streamed directly into his silica-pathways. He took it upon himself to touch his consciousness with that of the Hybrid.

Sitting in his comfortable chair watching his Persephone through the security feed, he spoke to the Hybrid and the rest of his Cylon brother and sisters.

"Prepare and organize a plan of attack. We jump when all is ready."

Speaking to Persephone and tracing her with his finger he said, "It will be just like we planned it. Lee will be the best man and Dad will perform the ceremony. We can have that family-only wedding you wanted after all, Kara."

BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG

_End of Day Two of mining operations, just before dawn…_

He was dreaming. He had to be. That was the only explanation for why he could be looking at her, standing not ten feet away from him in all her Starbuck glory.

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She was awake. She had to be. If she slept, then the dreams would come. But she saw him. She was looking at him in all is Apollo glory.

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Ragnar Anchorage was an FTL jump behind them. His father's office was to his back and he had just told the Old Man that he was going to create a CAP rotation and take command of the Air Group. But there was something he had to do before he could even begin to sort out the tangled mess that would form the first line of defence for the fifty-thousand survivors of the human race. If he didn't, then there was the likelihood that there would be one less Caprican on board the Galactica.

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She was on a mission. Wherever he was, she was going to find him. And when she found him, she was going to throttle him. Every corridor she swept, people made the safe choice to get out of her way. Every room she looked into, looking for his head to put on her personal platter, all conversations stopped as her fury radiated off her in waves and only resumed when she moved on to look for him elsewhere.

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Catching sight of black hair, strong shoulders and those frak-worthy blue eyes, Kara didn't see everyone else in that section of C-Deck scrambling to get to another location. She was fixated on only one thing: him.

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Blonde hair: check. Hazel-green eyes: check. Flight suit hugging the most dangerous curves in the Fleet: check. The sensation of locking onto a target wasn't far off the mark.

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Dropping one shoulder slightly and barely cocking her head to one side, she had a fistful of his blues in one hand and gave him an order through clenched teeth.

"You and I need to talk – NOW."

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She might have grabbed onto his uniform, but one twist of his arm broke her grip and gave him enough leverage to clamp onto her elbow. Turning her around as she started to sputter, he gave her one chance not to have him go nuclear where they stood.

"Don't even try it."

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One curt nod to the Officer on Duty from him and the brig cell on D-Deck was empty.

Propelling Starbuck through the open cell door, he clanked it shut and rounded on her.

If she thought she was going to get away with what she did…

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The forced-march to hack was just winding her up more. Letting go of her elbow was a big mistake.

One he was going to realize even as she pulled her arm back and let her right hook fly – which he deftly blocked.

This was why she kept her left hand out of play until she jabbed him with it and let it sink deep into his solar plexus.

"What the hell was that out there, huh?" Starbuck demanded.

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Blocking her right hook was easy. Clenching his stomach muscles did little to stop the blow to his mid-section when the angle of her shot changed at the last second and most of his internal organs got shifted to the left.

Hissing lost air between his teeth, he heard her but instead of answering her verbally, he latched onto her left arm as she pulled it back. Shifting his weight and using her surprise against her, he had her arm twisted high up against her back and with a few efficient steps had her face pressed flat to the cell wall.

Then, he decided to answer her.

"What the hell was that, you ask? That is EXACTLY what the frak I want to know!" Breathing heavily, his mouth was just behind her ear and a few strands of her hair moved with every word he said.

"Let me go and I'll tell you." The promise that laced her words made her lips curl.

"And have you take another swing at me – I don't think so. No. We're going to do things my way for the moment. That way, I'll spend tonight sleeping in my rack instead of one of Cottle's beds." He wasn't born yesterday or the day before and it was about time she remembered that.

"I would clear your schedule if I was you – I heard tomorrow's gonna be a bitch-ass busy day in Sickbay." She ground out.

"Enough – okay? I'm going to count to three and then I'm going to let you go and you're not going to hit me. Agreed?"

Hearing nothing but silence, he twisted her arm slightly – just enough to let her know that at the moment he had the upper hand – he asked again. "Agreed?"

Inhaling sharply at his 'reminder', he got his answer.

"Fine. Whatever. I won't hit you. There – are you satisfied?" She talked to him like he was twelve years old.

"Promise?"

"Frak you, Adama," she snapped back.

"Give me your promise, Thrace. I'm not letting go until you give me your word. And you know that I can stand here all day."

"You would too, wouldn't you – just to prove that you could. Typical Lee Adama," Starbuck grumbled. Her words slightly muffled as half her face was still pressed against the wall of the cell. "Fine- I promise not to hit you."

Releasing her wrist, he stepped back but only far enough to give her room to turn around. Her word was a badge of honour. For a lot of the things that Kara Thrace did in her life – the good and the bad – she wasn't a liar when it came to big stuff and keeping her word was something she didn't do lightly. It was one of the things that were both a weakness and strength for her and one he wasn't above exploiting.

Getting a good look at her for the first time since they crash landed together, a surge of emotion spun out from where she hit him and travelled to his hands. In a flash, both his palms hit the tops of her shoulders and sent her stumbling backwards into the wall. The tentative peace in her eyes changed to something akin to dangerous as she found her footing.

"You better have a good reason for that, Apollo because I swear by the Gods…"

"What the hell were you thinking, bringing us in like that?"

His shout overrode what she began to say. To her credit, he didn't have to say what he was referring to – the beyond insane manoeuvre she pulled to interlock their Vipers and land them both on the deck of the flight pod with barely a second to spare.

"Me? What the hell was I thinking? Frak you! That's my line. What the frak was that bullshit about 'leave me' and 'save yourself' and 'I'm not going to make it' crap, huh?" She closed in on him, stepping close enough that it was his turn to feel the air that came from her lungs to hurl her accusations in his face.

"My ship was damaged – I had no thrusters, no engines. I made the right call – straight out of the book." He justified his actions with a terse head bob. "You are second-in-command. I count on you to make it back and lead them if I don't make it back. How hard is that for you to understand – or did you miss that lecture?"

"Frak the 'book', Lee – there is no 'book' anymore. Don't you get that?" Making her point, she turned on her heel and took three steps to the right. Bracing her hands on her waist, she kept her face turned away from him but still went on. "There are no 'do-overs' here; no climbing out of simulators, you jackass. The Cylons have taken your precious Operations Manual and are using it to wipe their asses every time they go to the can." She held up her index finger. "Don't you ever do that again – do I make myself clear?"

An inkling of insight tickled the outside edges of his turbulent emotions, but it wasn't strong enough to lock what he was thinking behind his teeth.

"That is what pissed me off today. You and that insane idea of yours was the stupidest thing I have ever seen. You had your own pilots to protect as well as a couple of Raiders on your ass. And what do you do? If things played out differently Kara…" He couldn't make himself say the word 'dead'. Riled up, he went on. "This is not one of your games of Triad where probability is a factor. You said it yourself – just now –"

That had her turning around, heat from her blazing eyes cutting off his sentence before he could say it.

"Tell me something I don't know! But listen now and hear me good. As long as you are in the air and the Old Man is in-charge of this ship then I will make sure you make it home. Is that too difficult for you to understand, Captain?" Starbuck smirked, her challenge blatant as she threw his own words back at him with a patronizing tone.

"I am not some nugget who needs to be babysat, Kara!" Lee couldn't believe that she thought he couldn't take care of himself out there.

"This isn't about you, Lee!" Her voice deepened as her emotions rose. "You have GOT to be the smartest dumb person I know! This is about ME – knowing that YOU are safe and sound and HERE." She pointed to the sides of the brig cells as a euphemism for protective walls of Galactica. "So that you can make amends with your father over a mistake I made."

"What about you? You think that if you were blown out of the sky that it wouldn't make a difference to me, to the Old Man?" He was incredulous. What was she thinking! "Or is it that you want to be a smear on the Chief's deck?"

"I'm not the one who gave up out there!"

"Yeah – well I'm not the one who feels the need to make her every launch a personal act of contrition!" It was a low blow, and the stricken look on her face was evidence enough of how close to the quick his tongue cut. But he hadn't finished yet. "You cannot bring him back, Kara. No matter what you do, he's gone."

"I know." Her head drooped until the only thing she was looking at was the floor. Hearing her draw in a deep breath, he wasn't prepared for the naked honesty in her eyes as she looked up at him through a veil of lashes. "But you are. You are here." Her head rose incrementally with every word she spoke and the conviction that underscored what she said. "And if anything happened to you – that I could have prevented in some way, somehow… Lee, that is something that I cannot live with. I need to do this."

She hadn't moved, so he came to her. Lifting her right hand, he matched his hand to hers – palm to fingertip. For several heartbeats, her fingers remained slightly tensed. Making his face as solemn as possible and drawing on some semblance of formality was when her fingers spread and his own filled the gaps. "Repeat after me: I, Kara Thrace."

"I, Kara Thrace," she echoed.

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Lee standing in front of her in all of his Apollo alpha-male glory shimmered and took on a different form.

It was Simon and a pair of Centurions.

"Good morning, Starbuck."

That was the first and last thing Simon said to her as she rose to her feet and made for the barrier.

She felt the pressure of the metal hands of the Centurion squeeze her flesh as she was brought to The Room.

She felt the cold contours of the chair against every curve of her body.

She felt the near ritualistic way Zak loomed over her as the bio-mechanical interfaces made their connections and her 'bathwater' filled her glass-walled 'tub'.

But it was her hand pressed against Lee's dress blues that her memory played against her current reality. It was Lee's words that she recited in that brig cell that she heard, rather than Zak's promise of everlasting love and God's mission.

As the drugs were pumped into her body, as the blood lust and need for combat fired to life in the darker parts of her psyche, some part of her let her finish her waking dream with only the most minor of changes.

_I, Starbuck, standing willingly before the Lords of Kobol, do swear and avow to protect Lee Adama with every skill I possess and every fibre of my being. _

bsg xxx bsg

Focused on the latest progress reports from the primary smelting station, it was only by chance that Cally looked up at the sky as she emerged from the metalworks. A red dawn was spreading across the sky. Twenty million things were on her list to be done and all she could think of was something her great-aunt used to say.

_Red sky at night, sailors' delight; red sky in the morn – sailors take warning. _

Shivering in the dawn chill, she pulled the collar of her jacket closer to her neck and ducked her head as she climbed into the All-Terrain Transporter.

Setting the vehicle in motion and smoothly sliding through the gears, her great-aunt's saying was pushed aside as she crossed the plain and made her way back to the main compound. The Chief was waiting for her and today was already starting out as a very busy day.

bsg xxx bsg

Making up the words as he went along, calling on the Gods as witnesses, he gave her what she needed: his permission to let her protect him.

But they weren't done.

Keeping the fingers of their right hands firmly interlocked, Kara looked up at him and began, "I, Lee Adama."

"I, Lee Adama," he echoed.

"Do so willingly and knowingly, without reservation," she said.

"Do so willingly and knowingly, without reservation," he repeated.

"Swear to serve the Fleet, uphold his moral convictions and to never lose sight of what is in front of him."

"I swear to serve the Fleet, uphold my moral convictions and to never lose sight of what is in front of me."

Letting go of his fingers, he watched as Kara closed the gap between them when she stepped up, wrapped both her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his uniform jacket.

He held her, even as his name was being called from somewhere outside the cell.

He felt her tense as a voice called out for Captain Adama again.

Craning his neck with every intention of telling whoever was paging him to go away was when his arms cradled nothing but air. Kara was gone just as mysteriously as she came.

Jerking awake, a quick sweep of the room was proof enough that he wasn't in hack on Galactica. He was on a camp bed just off of his make-shift Communications Centre on the moon.

Shoving his blankets aside and reaching for his pants, his head snapped to the left as a Geminese accent called from the door.

"Captain Adama – you had better come quickly." A frazzled Corporal Venner hurriedly beckoned.

Fastening his fly and stomping into his boots, leaving his jacket to be buttoned up as he made his way out of the Centre and into the cold morning air, he saw Helo, standing not too far away. Beyond the ECO, deeper to the right, the Chief was talking to Cally as they both stood next to an ATT.

Heading in their direction, a red dawn was streaking the morning sky. On the opposite side of the horizon, where night still claimed residency, bright flashes of lights could be seen coming ever closer to the mining site.

The clap of a fighter dropping back within the sound barrier had him whipping his head high and to the left.

His eyes focused on a Viper chasing a Raider. The Cylon fighter dropped out of the sky, screamed over head, and made for the supposed sanctuary of the upper-atmosphere. The Viper, hot on its tail, was firing round after round as it tried to bring the enemy craft down. A wobble in the Viper's wing had Lee's eyes popping wide open.

"CHIEF!" His loudest Captain Adama voice carried over the din.

Tyrol grabbed Cally's hand and half-dragged-half ran toward him a split second before one of the rounds hit the transport vehicle. Lifting his arm to shield himself from the wall of heat that blasted its way in his direction as it exploded into a ball of fire, it was seeing Helo in motion over the edge of his cuff that gave him the instant he needed to pull together an action plan.

Tyrol landed on top of Cally and smouldering bits of debris littered his back. Pulling off his own jacket without bothering with the brass buttons and swathing his hands with the fabric, Helo had the Chief brushed off and on his feet. Getting Cally to her feet, all three of them began to cross the compound.

His attention pulled to the sky one more time, the combat pilot in him was temporarily mesmerized as he watched the Raider – shudder? – in mid-flight before radically changing its vector, its heading completely incongruous to the evasive manoeuvres it had been taking until it changed course.

Snapping back to the moment, hollering out orders for non-essential personnel to take cover, he found himself diving to the ground and rolling to his left as debris from the aerial battle taking place overhead rained down on everyone and everything for several minutes.

Climbing upright, orange dust marking exactly where he hit the dirt, and seeing Helo still with the Chief, he turned his focus to Venner.

"Corporal – get on the phone to Galactica and find out what is going on!"

Acknowledging the order, Venner swung his weapon from a ready position to across his back and darted for the Communications Centre.

Lee was less than two seconds from following the Corporal inside when the ground began to tremble.

Looking up at the sky once more, his eyes moved left and right as he tried to identify what the brightly glowing object was that was plummeting to the surface of the moon. Whatever it was, its trajectory was going to put it five clicks away from the primary refinery station.

Following its path with his eyes, realization shook him.

It was a BaseStar. Someone, somehow, had brought down a frakking BaseStar.

It was on fire and the every surface that was facing the moon was burning up in the atmosphere as it seared a path across the dawn.


	18. Chapter 18:The Only Way

Author's Note: This chapter picks up seconds after Chapter 17 left off; the timeline will fluctuate as the chapter progresses but the variations will be denoted.

**Another Way Chapter 18**

**The Only Way…**

"What the HELL just happened here, Bill?" Tigh barely kept the growl out of his voice as he narrowed his eyes.

"I don't know." Adama didn't have the answer his friend was looking for, but at the moment, that didn't matter. What did matter was that the immediate threat of a BaseStar closing in on them was gone. "But I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I like my teeth where they are; Cottle's a little short on dentures these days."

Breaking his concentration away from the DRAEDIS display, Bill looked across the board and made eye contact with his friend. The way Tigh was poised – like a cat about to tussle with a dog – was something he could understand. Being denied the opportunity to strike back prickled the retired combat pilot in him. He would have liked the chance to take a swipe at that BaseStar with his Viper-tipped claws.

Each caught up in trying to put the pieces together, an interesting silence stretched between him and his Executive Officer.

Not that CIC was quiet – far from it, in fact. Specialists, officers and attendants were criss-crossing the command space doing their jobs. The klaxons sounding the Action Stations alarm were still going off. Vipers were mopping up the two Raiders that still showed up on DRAEDIS. SAR and Kat were escorting the Blackbird back into to the hanger bay. And there was still the issue of an out-of-control BaseStar plummeting to the surface of the moon endangering everyone and everything in its flaming path.

"Dee." Adama shot his voice directly to the Communications Console. Locking eyes with the young woman, he said, "Raise the mining camp."

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Standing in the yard of the operations compound, Lee visually tracked a BaseStar careening across the lightening sky. The point of impact was going to be where gravity met the rotation of the moon and then multiplied by velocity, no more – no less. The important things were what were on the ground. The ore was stable, but everything else – the vehicles, machinery, everything – ran on tylium and there was no way the Fleet could afford to lose irreplaceable equipment like that.

One part of his mind was already forming a battle plan to defend the site as the other half was running through the scenarios and what it must have cost Galactica to bring down an enemy ship that out-massed the Battlestar nearly two-to-one.

Striding through the doors of the Communications Centre, he watched Corporal Venner place one hand over his ear as he pressed the receiver of the wireless more firmly against the other in an attempt to hear was being relayed. Overhead, the lights flickered and Lee instinctively jerked his shoulders and looked up as debris rained down from above and littered the roof of the building. Seeing Venner make eye-contact with him, Lee pointed to the phone and curled his fingers around the receiver as Venner placed it in his hands.

"Go outside. Find Lieutenant Agathon and Chief Tyrol. Tell them that they are to organize everyone they can find and meet me outside in ten minutes." Bracing the phone between his shoulder and his ear, he added more orders for Venner to obey. "I want you to tell Specialist Cally that she is in charge of those needing medical aid. I want you to find any and all weapons and bring them here. We will be moving out ASAP."

"Aye, aye, Sir," Venner nodded in understanding.

Watching the Geminese man practically run for the door, Lee reached for the communications console and tried to do what Venner hadn't been able to: contact Galactica.

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Hands locked to the console, Bill issued orders from where he stood. So far, every attempt to reach the mining camp had failed and he wasn't going to move until he heard Lee's voice for himself. He had two years to mourn Zak before he lost Kara. Losing Lee and Kara in the same week was something he was not prepared to do, no matter how symmetrical it seemed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Adama could see Dee trying to make eye contact with him from her station.

An almost indiscernible nod to Saul broke their private moment. Flicking his eyes away from his oldest friend he acknowledged the young woman.

"Sir, it's a call from the surface. It's Captain Adama."

"Put him through." Adama ordered. Looking up at the DRAEDIS, as if he were actually looking at Lee instead of just listening to his voice, he watched the last two Raiders blink off the screen.

"Galactica Actual – Apollo; what happened up there?" A scratchy transmission and warbled words transmitted through the wireless.

"We're still trying to ascertain that, Captain. What is your damage report?" Adama asked.

"One ATT destroyed by friendly fire, triage being performed as we speak but no solid numbers to speak of as of yet." Puzzlement underscored the information Lee relayed. "What about you? What is your SitRep? How much damage did you sustain?"

Before Adama or Tigh could answer, a terrific noise filled CIC. Dee pulled her headset off as feedback screeched in her ears and wrapped around the Command Centre.

The first to recover, Gaeta crossed the room and typed a series of commands into the computer. Almost immediately, a printout spat out what happened.

"Apollo! What happened? Are you all right?" Adama shouted. In the hours after the end of the worlds, and further re-enforced by the last words he would ever speak to Starbuck, he'd learned not to hide behind semantics.

"Sir, the BaseStar just struck the surface," Gaeta said quietly enough to be heard by everyone but not so loudly as to drown out what was coming over the wireless.

The sound of the wireless band being re-tuned squawked in the background.

"Galactica Actual – Apollo; the BaseStar you brought down crash-landed. Impact temporarily knocked out communications." Apollo clarified.

Looking at Gaeta who still had his paper in hand and switching his gaze to Tigh, Adama used the moment to put the words together before pushing the consonants and vowels off his tongue.

"That wasn't our kill, Captain."

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Between everything that had happened in the past twelve minutes – from Venner waking him up to the BaseStar crashing somewhere relatively nearby and now speaking with Galactica – he had to have misheard what his father had just said.

"Repeat that, Galactica?"

It was second before he heard the Commander's voice.

"We did not bring down that BaseStar, Captain."

Lee felt his eyes widen and his jaw threaten to drop open.

"What happened up there, Sir? I have a BaseStar full of Cylons in my side yard and you're saying they fell there by chance? "

Lee was interrupted by Tigh cutting into the line.

"Captain – as soon as we know, you'll know. In the meantime, your orders are to protect the mining site and those on that moon. Expect a Raptor carrying ordinance and small arms to arrive shortly along with a pair of medics. Wounded will be triaged and then evacuated to Galactica for treatment."

Drawing a deep breath, Apollo shook Lee from his face.

"Yes, Sir – understood. Apollo out."

Putting the receiver down, he closed his eyes for a brief moment as he let Tigh's curt words go in one ear and out the other.

Hitting both doors to the Communications Centre with both hands with a hell of a lot more force than necessary, he let them clap shut behind him and let go of the breath he was only barely aware that he had been holding.

Looking up ahead, he saw that Venner had relayed his orders to Helo and Tyrol. The three men had found enough staff to make three groups – everyone else was at the refineries or in the mines.

Frak! The miners!

Coming up on the group, Captain Adama took control.

"Okay, change of plans. Listen up people – this is how we're going to do this." Looking at Venner, he said, "Corporal, you're to take as much rope as you can carry and six people with you and you're to check the integrity of the mine shafts and pull out anyone who's in trouble. Because that BaseStar hit so close to here, there's a possibility that some of the shafts could be compromised and people could be trapped."

Venner nodded, turned on his heel and picked out his rescue detail.

Placing Tyrol in the path of his blue eyes, he made it clear what he needed the Chief to do. "I need you to go to the refinery and smelting stations. Make sure equipment is secure and not a danger to anyone or anything. Take as many men as you need to cover all the contingencies. We're gonna need that equipment for another day, Chief."

"Got it, Captain."

Seeing Tyrol agree and choose who he would take with him, he faced Helo.

"You and I – along with everyone else," there were only eight men left, "are going to make our way to the crash site and survey the scene. We're going to establish a perimeter and set up a primary line of defence so that when those Centurions come filing out of that ship, we can keep them contained to that area until our re-enforcements arrive."

"With what, Sir? All we have are a handful of weapons and a couple of packs of demolition-grade charges that we've been using to excavate the ore." Venner asked, concern etched in his face.

"There's a Raptor being loaded as we speak that should be here shortly. It will drop supplies, medical aid, pick up the wounded and take them back to Galactica." Lee touched the eyes of the three groups organized in front of him. "All right people – let's move out! We have a lot of ground to cover and we are working against the clock!"

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For the second time in less than an hour, Lee had to raise his arm to protect his face.

This time, it was due to Racetrack setting down her Raptor. Clouds of orange dust swirled around him, Helo and the rest of his company as she touched down. Uniform buffeted against his body, it was several moments before he could get close enough to hop up onto the skid boards. Impatiently pushing up as the hydraulics opened the hatch, he was along side the ECO station before Margaret could start her power-down sequence. The medics were not in the compartment; she had already dropped the technicians off at the compound.

Tapping her shoulder, he brought his fingers together and swung his wrist back and forth across the base of his neck. _Stop, don't power-down_. The drone of an engine still running set the floor vibrating, but it was a logistical necessity.

Stepping away from the Raptor pilot, he backtracked to the hatch. Beckoning for Helo, he ordered, "Get the equipment unloaded and see that it gets distributed." Spying several bulky bundles of lightweight body armour he added, "Make sure everyone is as protected as possible. Load the weapons. We're not going to be here long. Got it?"

"Got it," Helo nodded. Looking over his shoulder he called another soldier forward and started pulling out the supplies.

Getting back to Racetrack, Captain Adama made sure he had her complete attention. "Keep the engine hot. We don't know what's out there. Be prepared to puddle-jump and pick us up."

Twisting her neck left and right, looking past him at where Helo was passing back equipment and out the side view ports where the rest of the force had gathered near the Raptor, she shook her head. "Only way I can do that is if I make two trips. There's not enough room in here for everyone, Sir."

"Then you puddle-jump – your job is to get us out of there if I or Lieutenant Agathon gives the word. Do you understand me?" Captain Adama expressly asked in a way that made saying 'no' not an option.

"Aye, aye, Sir," she affirmed. There was no misunderstanding his orders.

"Did they load you with short-range missiles, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Sir – four were slid into the launch tubes just prior to take off."

A terse nod was all the answer she got and that was all the acknowledgement she needed. Shooting a sitting target wasn't very challenging, but just because the BaseStar was inert didn't mean it was incapacitated. It was still armed and dangerous and she was glad that the Captain hadn't lost sight of that fact.

Walking away from the pilot and making for the hatch, Lee scanned the empty cargo area. All the supplies sent down from Galactica had been unloaded. Stepping down and away from the bird, he saw his men in various stages of loading up. Striding up to Helo more by reflex than anything else, a stack of Marine-grade armour, bullet-proof vest and a pair of guns with spare clips was still left to be donned.

"That's for you." Helo jutted his chin towards pile as Lee got close. Fitting an earpiece into his aural canal he added, "I hope you don't mind the colour – I thought it would go well with your eyes."

A guarded smile touched his lips at Karl's levity. If his words hadn't ended with the larger man snapping a clip into his side arm, changing up Agathon's normal easy-going demeanour to something much more lethal, Lee could picture himself even chuckling lightly.

"Well – at least black is slimming – so I would say it looks good on you too." He shot back, even as he started to pull on his own armour.

Watching with only one eye as the slightly older man stretched his arms and shoulders in an attempt to loosen up the underlying muscles and using the other eye to make sure he got all the buckles and clasps secured properly, he waited for Karl's comeback.

"Yeah, well," he let his voice trail off before he gave Lee a lop-sided smirk. "I also took the Extra Manly-sized gear; didn't want it to go to waste. You understand – right?" The connotation that Helo was sparing his ego wasn't hard to miss.

"Hey – you're the one who's going to have to live with being called 'Starbuck' for the next day or so." Lee glibly returned, reminding Karl who exactly had the biggest stones in the Fleet – besides the Old Man and Roslin.

_**Snap.**_

_**Click.**_

_**Pop. **_

_**Crack.**_

Guns were loaded with rounds, spare ammunition was clicked into place, holsters were popped open and the crack of weapons striking armour made any further retort trite.

Looking at the Captain, Karl knew he was the larger man but between the two of them Lee was definitely the more dangerous. Size wasn't an issue when moral conviction merged with justifiable retribution.

"Okay people – we're moving out!"

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In front of him, the free-falling BaseStar had carved a sizable crater out of the terrain. Fires could seen burning on some of the higher levels of the ship and every once in awhile he felt ground tremble as internal explosions radiated out from the parts of the craft that had been driven deep into the surface of the moon by the impact. It was listing on its side. Several of the spiny appendages had snapped off during the crash and by the ragged furrows drawn in the topsoil, it looked like the craft had rolled at least twice.

"Whatcha' think?" Helo asked.

Reaching for his field glasses, Lee peered through the lenses. "No movement. No one – skinjobs or clankers – have come out of there since we got here."

"The scouts reported that there were no tracks leading away from the crash site – so that means that we didn't miss them leaving the ship before we arrived."

"Well, there's something to be said for small favours, huh?" Lee's comment was rhetorical but it still felt good to hear Karl's grunt of approval. Passing the field glasses over to Agathon Lee asked, "What do you think?"

"Well – I think we have learned all we're gonna know from here. We're gonna have to get closer if we're gonna find out what's going on in there and what we're up against." Helo said matter of factly, his own Marine garb making hollow noises as he shifted against the rocks. "On the 'plus' side of things, Racetrack has enough room to land if need be, Captain."

"I agree." This time, it was his turn to grunt.

Picking their way across the plain and approaching the downed spaceship, one question kept cropping up time and again: if Galactica didn't bring down the BaseStar, then who the frak did and what the FRAK happened up there?

Separating from Helo at what looked like a hanger bay Agathon took his group to the left while Lee and his crew branched to the right and began making their way towards the starboard side of the ship. Flicking his eyes to Helo, he knew the other man was just as taken back as he was by the amount of damage sustained to the ship. What they were looking at went beyond a crash landing.

It looked like a war-zone.

Raiders were piled haphazardly against one another along one far wall, as if they had been stacked together and someone had come along and knocked the whole pile over in one fell swoop. The power was intermittent. Showers of sparks would sporadically cascade around them as surges overloaded the circuitry. Support girders were wrenched from overhead, ostensibly by the impact, and the sound of metal creaking under the strain of fatigue underscored the popping of electricity and the whirring of ventilation systems pulling smoke and fumes out of the air. The smell of some unknown cooked flesh made his eyes sting and tickled his gag reflex. He didn't want to know what he was stepping on or what caused the squelching sounds coming up from underneath his boots.

Remembering his training from War College, the state of the space craft was beyond any simulations he had seen as to how a massive Battlestar should look after being shot down and crash landing on an angle that was incongruous to the axis it was built to maintain. The only difference was that this was a Cylon BaseStar and the smell that permeated everything.

"Apollo – look up there." Helo kept his voice low but projected it across the hanger bay.

Following Agathon's line-of-sight, Lee craned his neck and focused on a beam of light streaming in from up above.

"Looks like something crashed INTO the ship." Lee guessed.

"And it landed over there." Helo traced the ray of light with the barrel of his weapon.

Crumpled around itself, ooze and muck were still seeping out of jagged gashes that scored the sides of the Raider. It was an eerie sight while at the same time slightly reassuring. If the Cylons were killing each other then that meant that there would be fewer that his forces would have to deal with later.

"I'd buy the pilot who brought that ship down a round of drinks at the bar of their choice." A Marine from the back of the line-up snorted.

"All I can say is that it must have been one hell of a fight up there." Helo commented, referring to what must have happened in space.

"Can the chatter people – we just got here" Captain Adama snapped. "It's too early in the game to get sloppy."

Another explosion – somewhere deep within the ship – had Lee and his men fighting to keep their footing.

Getting back his balance and flipping off the safety on his weapon, Lee signalled for everyone else to do the same.

Bringing his gun to chest-level, he gave the order. "All right people. Stay sharp – we're going in."

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_One Hour Ago…_

It had only happened three times before where Kara 'Starbuck' Thrace pulled together the different aspects of her psyche to do what she had to do.

The first time it happened was on the Pyramid court when that idiot blew out her knee. The she-warrior in her demanded restitution while the leader in her felt the need to keep it together. She could actually feel two distinct facets – not vying for control – but making their presence known. Using them both at the same time was what gave her the ability to circumvent the rising crisis and defuse the crowd before the crowd tore itself apart. It might have cost her a career on the professional circuit, but she owned that court that she limped off of because of it.

The second time it happened was when the three nuclear warheads were closing in on Galactica in the first few hours of the war. The calmness that accompanied the officer aspect of her personality allowed her to contact Galactica and not only warn them of the imminent impact, but also give the Battlestar a damage report that they themselves could not ascertain. At the same time, it was the instincts of Starbuck that took aim and plucked out of the sky two out of the three missiles at an impossible range in an antiquated aircraft that hadn't flown in twenty years.

The third time it happened was when Zak hooked her up to the Raiders. By pressing her torn back harder into the 'chair', flashes of pain gave her something to hold onto as the drugs and electrical impulses pulled at her mind and body. Even the most subtle shift in her body accentuated the pain that flared from her back. The more pain she felt, the more 'control' she had. That is, she was able to combine Starbuck's thrill for flying and uncanny ability in the cockpit with the moral responsibility that Lieutenant Thrace carried and only disable Colonial Vipers rather than destroy them; run a defensive play at the same time as she commanded the offensive line. It was enough to make her question her own sanity, and sometimes it was a really ugly situation, but she was out of cards. At least, she was – until someone laid down their trump earlier than he should have.

That was the reason why she made sure that the last 'Spiritual Cleansing' session that Three administered was the most vicious one yet. And it had everything to do with the man who was bent over her, whispering instructions to her fluid-covered ears. Zak's promise to take Lee was something he should have never told her. Now, she had a way to make sure that Zak would never get to the Old Man or Lee ever again. But it was going to cost her. It was going to cost her big time. In order to do what she had to do, she was going to draw on all three of her components. Kara was going to have to surface and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Starbuck and Lieutenant Thrace for her plan to work.

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There was nothing more she could do.

Sharon had done all she could for Kara. The rest was up to pilot who now stood to lose everything that had been keeping her together over the past seven weeks.

Putting one foot in front of the other, she wasn't entirely convinced that Kara finally believed that Sharon was telling the truth as to who she was and why she was there on the BaseStar. But, even if Starbuck didn't believe her, it didn't matter. The plan, conceived barely a day ago in the showers by a barely coherent woman, was already in motion. Not one that Sharon would have thought of, or would've even considered, but it was a Starbuck plan. Looking at it from a certain point-of-view, it did make sense. The part that made her feel uneasy was the way that the Colonial warrior made her promise to stick to the plan, no matter what happened. She could still see the other woman's hazel-green eyes glittering with fevered sincerity when the Viper pilot made Sharon promise to make it back to Helo.

The one stumbling block Sharon had – Adama's stipulation about Thrace's dog tags – was solved when Starbuck lifted her foot and pressed her toes against Sharon's thigh. A simple silver band was on her big toe. Sudsing up her hands, making like she was washing away the blood on Starbuck's foot and calf – which there was due to Three's 'passion' – Sharon slipped the band off Kara's toe and secured it around the base of her index finger. Adama would not need anything else and Sharon would be safe – once she reached Galactica. On this point, Kara had been adamant, her wet hair moving in time to the vehemence of her words.

Getting there was going to be the hard part. And that was where Leoben was going to come into play.

Making her way nonchalantly down corridor after corridor, she made sure to keep her face as neutral as possible and her thoughts as shielded as she could. It was Leoben's job to 'distract' the Hybrid, to ask the Heart of the BaseStar what she was 'seeing' and to probe for prophesies yet fulfilled. Sharon couldn't run the risk of her thoughts touching the collective information stream.

Entering the hanger bay, she approached the Blackbird. Popping the canopy, her helmet was just where she left it and her flight suit was still balled up and wedged between the seat and the pedals. Around her, Centurions were prepping Raiders for launch. Silently, she gave thanks for the simple programming that was built into the metal soldiers. The memory of a Centurion didn't download to a new body upon destruction. Each Centurion was just as his namesake represented: a soldier built to do a soldiers work, to obey orders without question and never question an order that had been issued. Not that a Centurion couldn't adapt to fulfil a mission, learn about an enemy's strengths and weaknesses. But that was where it ended. If a Centurion had to change direction in order to achieve a directive, then it could. What it could not do was make a decision for itself. That was why she felt secure crossing the hanger bay. The Centurions were ordered to prep Raiders. No one gave them an order to prevent her from getting to her ship. It also helped that, to them – the metal soldiers – she was just another Model. Not someone who had an agenda separate from the Collective Manifesto.

Pulling on the suit and settling into the cockpit, she took one more look around at what used to be her home, her people and the only way of life she knew since she was brought on-line. In front of her, out there in the blackness of space, was the opportunity to live her own life, love the man who loved her, and raise her child to be an individual from the day of her birth, not her 'in service' date.

Blinking several times pushed the soft look in her eyes aside. Squaring her shoulders with the backrest she adopted the stern look she's seen on Viper pilots who were about to launch, knowing that there was no going back. The same was now true for her.

Sliding her helmet into place, she powered up the stealth ship. Scanning her instruments, she was glad to see that her orders had been carried out. The cloaking device had been fixed. Watching as one Raider after another slipped from its hanging-hook and made for the mouth of the hanger bay, she timed it so that she blended into the queue.

Granted that the 'hiding a tree in a forest' strategy wasn't going to protect her for long, but Starbuck promised that the other Models have 'other things' to deal with by the time that happened. She didn't know too many humans who kept their promises, but the feeling of the ring on her first finger somehow made Kara's words carry the sanctity of a vow.

Holding a position underneath one set of Raiders, just like she had been told to do, come Hell or Hades, she turned off the cloaking mechanism.

Playing with the Big Dogs meant no fear – and no going back, for her or for Starbuck.

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It was like she could hear the separation of the Raider, pulling away from where it hung upside down ready for battle. She felt, as if she were lying inside the war craft, the inertia dampeners kick in and prevent her from hitting the deck. The sling-shot principle intrinsic to launching a Viper never came into play. Instead, port and starboard thrusters fired simultaneously, sending her out into the blackness of space as her engines burned across the vacuum.

All around her, she could sense her fellow Raiders spread out and take the formations she projected in her mind. Their target was sitting there, just off the port bow. Between and below them, an orange coloured moon with a moderate atmosphere spun gracefully on its axis. Coming at her was a squadron of Colonial Vipers.

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Six looked around the Command Table. Doral, an Eight, and D'Anna were spread out around her. No one liked this latest plan. To pursue Lee Adama was not a logical objective, but in the wake of the success that Two and Simon demonstrated with Starbuck, they didn't have a counter argument strong enough to prevent the mission from happening. It was with reluctance that they all agreed to proceed.

Placing her hands in the Living Water, she said, "All fighters are away."

Turning to the Eight, Doral gave her an order. "Tell Number Two that his operation can start at his discretion."

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Perched on the edge of her tank, Zak smiled down in encouragement at his Persephone. She wouldn't like what she was going to be made to do. But she would obey. She had to. She wouldn't have a choice. But in the long run, she'd see that he was doing this for her – for them. To bring his family together in a way that should've happened two years ago. By the end of the day, he, Kara and Lee would be together again. Just like it was meant to be.

Behind him, Simon announced, "She's ready."

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Colonial Vipers were coming in hard and fast – but her Raiders were faster. Breaking up the Cylon warships into groups, she could see them arrayed out in front, beside, alongside and behind her. Mentally reaching out to grab onto one rope-like vein that controlled 'roll', she shifted her hips and hit the 'power' ligament. Spinning and dipping down to an attack vector along with the two other Raiders flanking her, Starbuck felt herself roll with the ship. A flash of pain brought a flash of brightness to her eyes. Mentally shaking her head, she took her place in the formation. The Vipers were almost in range.

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Cylons weren't supposed to feel pride. Pride was one of the Deadly Sins that God had warned His Children against. But to see is Persephone in the throes of battle and to know that God chose him, above all other Cylons to bring her to her destiny swelled Zak's soul.

His Kara was beautiful when she slept. She was beautiful when she wept. She was ethereal when she was being defiant. She was God's Avenging Angel when she was doing His work.

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Banking hard to the left, the shot fired from one of the Colonial fighters missed her but took down the Raider flying beside her.

Jostled against the controls by the unexpected end-over-end manoeuvre, another flash – this time longer – of brightness lighted behind her eyes. This time, her sense of smell picked up something beyond the reek of Raider. Levelling out her pitch, she settled back down and adjusted the yaw of her fighter.

On her radar screen, she saw a signature of an enemy ship. The signal was coming from inside her offensive line. There was something important that she was supposed to remember about that plane, though. For some reason, it could not be blown out of the sky.

A pack of four Raiders broke off their attack on Galactica and changed course at her command: pursue the Blackbird.

A sheen of perspiration broke out all over her body. Everything was beginning to hurt. Flashes of whiteness, pain along every square inch of her back, a searing pounding her head were all interspersed with sounds and smells that were never found in space. There was more she was supposed to remember – more she was supposed to do.

Crying out as she pressed her body down more firmly against the floor of the Raider, pain exploded everywhere, and for one split second she could have sworn she saw Zak's face.

But that was impossible – wasn't it? Zak was dead. He died – two years ago. He. Was. Dead. Wasn't he?

Her musings had to wait. A Viper had picked her out of the fray and chose today to engage in a dogfight the Colonial pilot couldn't win.

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Looking on at the aerial battle from CIC, Adama nodded to Gaeta as Tigh locked his hands behind his back.

"Sir, it's the Blackbird. She's being chased by four Raiders." Gaeta didn't know what to make of it. Barely a week ago the Blackbird slipped through their defences and now, Sharon Valerii was high-tailing it back to the Fleet. "What are your orders?"

"Does her transmission code match?" Tigh asked.

"Yes, Sir," Gaeta confirmed.

Seeing his XO about to say something else, he silenced whatever Saul was about to say with one sidelong glance.

"Tell Coda that I want that ship brought in at all costs." Switching his gaze to Tigh, Adama said, "Send a detail of Marines to the hanger bay to secure the bird and its pilot when it lands."

Seeing Tigh reach for the wireless, Bill squinted up at the DRAEDIS console and locked away his emotions. He would need them later, but for right now, impassivity was going to be his best ally against a turbulent heart. There was only one reason why Cylon Number Eight would be returning to the nest.

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Number Six was close to snarling. "What is happening out there?"

D'Anna smacked her palm against the console. "I knew she wasn't to be trusted!"

Aaron Doral was close to losing the control that marked all the models in his line. "I want that ship brought down! Tell Number Two to get his 'pet' to shoot it out of the sky!"

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When she was like this, in her true element doing what she was born to do, she was what the Colonials referred to as a Goddess. Her skin shone and her eyes were other-worldly. She was not Kara when she was like this. She was not Lieutenant Thrace when the smallest movements that the chair allowed her became water-ballet in the opaqueness of her bath.

She was Starbuck. Power and ruthlessness and rage and a breath-taking sensuality that was as unique as the woman who owned the identity.

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It was so much! So much pain, from her back; so much pressure making her head pound; so many things going on at once – but that was the way it was supposed to be. Wasn't it?

Radar was a flurry of activity. It looked liked a Picon snowstorm – no make that a Picon blizzard.

No – wait – where had she thought those words before? Wait – when had she been able to 'think' before? Reaction was what she did, it was only 'before' when she was able to pre-empt scenarios before they could happen.

Frustration made her fingers flex. Aiming for the roof the Raider, she tried to punch it like she would the canopy of her Viper. But, her hands – they wouldn't let go of the 'throttle'. She couldn't let go!

An explosion off her port wing reminded her that there was still a Viper on her tail.

A cramp started to creep up her calf and her knee was starting to ache. If she could only shift a little, to alleviate the pressure… But her legs – they wouldn't move either, it was like they were locked into place.

A sense of panic was settling in. What was wrong?! Looking around her, she saw the inside of a Raider – her reality – wobble and become fuzzy. The more pain and discomfort she was in the more her 'reality' shifted until it looked like she was living two different timelines at the same time.

Flashes of white became more defined – walls of a room came into focus and two men – _how can I be in a Raider and in a room at the same time?_ – talking about her filtered into her ears.

The slime that coated her fingers was something that she expected as she handled the control appendages of her Raider. A prevailing sensation of being saturated made her look down at herself. Her whole body immersed in a tub full of goo. The sight of her hands, body, legs and feet strapped into place made her want to fight her bonds that were invisible in the cockpit of her Raider.

_This is wrong, this shouldn't be happening, this isn't right!_, she screamed in her mind.

A maelstrom of images, emotions, fears, triumphs, mistakes and a lifetime of memories overlapped and played out against one another.

In the background, growing louder and louder, was Sharon's voice; Sharon her friend, Sharon the Cylon –all one and the same but separate and equal at the same time. She was speaking to her: to Starbuck, to Lieutenant Thrace, to Kara. And, for some reason, Starbuck remembered it was important to listen to what the other female was saying.

"Pain is your friend, Kara. Use the pain, Starbuck. Feel it. Make it hurt more – that is the only way, Lieutenant." Sharon's voice was soothing, reassuring but underscored with an authority that was imperative to making her plan work.

_Plan – what plan?_ Starbuck's vision swayed. The star field she saw out her view port swam in and out of focus as she felt her eyes move side-to-side and dual realities merged and separated.

"Pain is your friend, Kara. Use the pain, Starbuck. Feel it. Make it hurt more – that is the only way, Lieutenant."

Somewhere, she was aware that she had broken away from the rest of the Raiders. Rolling and diving, the safety harness that kept her in place disappeared like it was never there. Bouncing around the cockpit, shooting pains streaked through her body. Sharon's voice grew louder and her words started to make more sense every time the Cylon repeated herself.

"Pain is your friend, Kara. Use the pain, Starbuck. Feel it. Make it hurt more – that is the only way, Lieutenant."

Levelling off once again, the more she followed the instructions of Sharon's voice, the more it hurt. But the more it hurt, the more the Raider she was 'in' fell away and the more Sharon's words seemed to anchor her in the melee that surrounded her. Like those three sentences were put in her subconscious for a reason.

A desperate thought pierced the raging confusion that thrummed every cell in her body.

What if… what if… if she could make her body hurt enough, it could be the one thing that saved her. _Saved her?_ That thought didn't make sense, but she was running out options. The Viper on her tail was closing in and if she didn't do something soon, she was going to be nothing but cosmic dust for another Hybrid to communicate with the next time a BaseStar passed through this section of space.

Throwing her Raider into an impossible climb at an impossible angle, Starbuck felt the g-forces press her deeper and deeper into her own body as breathing became more and more difficult. Awareness flared. Pain like she had never known before exploded through her body to such an extreme that when she went to open her mouth to let it out, all that came out was a bit of strangled air.

Braking off her ascent, the fog in her brain was lifting. Grim determination had her yanking at the controls and nearly robbing herself of consciousness as she changed course, kicked on her burners and pushed her and her fighter back down the same path.

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DRAEDIS was a mass of blips and icons.

On screen, Coda was trying to pick off the four Raiders hot on the Blackbird's tail. The BaseStar was coming about and it would not be long before it was position to fire at will at Galactica.

Icon number one-six-seven was banking steeply as the Raider it chased pulled a last minute evasive manoeuvre. Bill thought about pulling Rat Trap back from the chase, the Raider he was after was out of his league, but watching the Raider suddenly turn around and come back the way it came and head for the moon made his words trite. If he broke into the line now, he would only distract Rat Trap, not help him.

No – the best thing he could do for Rat Trap, and the rest of his pilots, was to make sure they had a home to come back too.

"Colonel Tigh – prepare to fire a suppression barrage." Adama ordered.

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"Pain is your friend, Kara. Use the pain, Starbuck. Feel it. Make it hurt more – that is the only way, Lieutenant."

She knew she had broken the uppermost atmosphere when the blackness that had been before her became various shades of orange.

She also knew she was not in that Raider. She could feel the other Raiders, just like she could 'feel' the Raider she was 'in' just as she could 'feel' every Cylon on the BaseStar. Even the Hybrid, in her own tank far away from where Starbuck was entrapped, lifted her head and acknowledged the Colonial warrior's presence.

She was in that chair.

She was a prisoner of the Cylons.

They had been using her to destroy her own people.

Not they – Zak.

Zak had been using her, and Simon was his accomplice. A tickle of smug satisfaction teased her memories. The last time she had seen a Simon model, she had told him that she would see him in Hell. This was certainly one definition of Hell, and they were there together.

Focusing in on what was in front of her – on two different levels – the sensation of her mind splitting into all three of her different personas sent her reeling while at the same time, it was the sanest thing that had happened to her in seven weeks.

_Starbuck – Lieutenant Thrace; now!_

Reaching out, using the chair, Starbuck nearly whimpered with the pain she needed to endure to bring the Lieutenant's plan to fruition and prayed that Kara had the strength to do her part.

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Sliding off of the glass partition, Zak crouched down and leaned his head forward until he was looking in her eyes – eyes that were focused on things he couldn't see. Dropping the most feather-light of kisses on her forehead and then pulling back, he gave her the assurance he knew she needed.

"Starbuck, you know what to do. It's time to bring Apollo home."

Watching her close her eyes in concentration as she prepared herself to follow his orders, he was mesmerized by the wide range of expressions his Kara was capable of sharing. Once they were married and living with Lee and his 'father' as the family they all had been denied for too long, he promised God that he would do everything in his power to make sure Kara knew how much she was loved.

Eyelids opening, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, a slight firming of her jaw line was all the warning he had before Kara – not Starbuck or Lieutenant Thrace – snapped him a scathingly disparaging look.

"What part of '**_over my dead body_**' didn't you understand, Zak?"

Before he could answer, an explosion from somewhere along the perimeter of the BaseStar echoed through the lab.

It was the second explosion that actually rocked the BaseStar and knocked Zak, Simon and every other Cylon off their feet.

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"Frakking Starbuck and her frakking plans…" Sharon muttered under her breath.

Evasive manoeuvres in a stealth ship built for agility and speed were accomplished more easily than in a Raptor. However, having four Raiders on her tail while at the same time being corralled by Vipers while said Vipers were intently focused on taking said Raiders out of the sky, was a serious exercise in concentration even for a Cylon.

Scanning her scopes, two of the four Raiders broke off their attack run and changed course. Dipping and banking left to avoid an ammunition round brought Sharon into a one-hundred and eighty-degree turn; she was now facing the BaseStar.

A mighty blast went off in the distance followed by a second incineration.

Unable to stop herself, a pair of tears trickled down her face.

"Frakking Starbuck and her frakking plans…" Inhaling a stabilizing breath, Sharon let it out slowly and said a prayer for the pilot who gave everything she had to give – for a second time.

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Those whose jobs it was to watch the DRAEDIS console did; those whose job was to relay information in CIC did, while they watched Raider after Raider change course and plough directly into the central axis of the oncoming BaseStar.

No one said anything because no one knew what to say as the damage read-out on the Cylon equivalent of a Battlestar began to lose altitude.

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The goop in her tank sloshed side to side even as the Lieutenant Thrace part of her mind pulled Raiders from the sky and careened them into the BaseStar.

The Starbuck in her was still in the cockpit of the Raider, coming up on the surface of the moon with a Viper hot on her burners.

Heading for 'the deck', a group of buildings came into sharp relief. As the image came close and the sonic boom echoed behind her, she could see slightly blurred forms running around below her as the Viper took aim and missed. Looking down, for one split second, she saw a figure in blue standing in the clear – it was Lee. A sudden explosion hid him from view and as the dust swirled away, she saw him pick himself up and look up at 'her'.

Her hands jerked the controls and she felt her ship shudder as the force of her emotions carried across the ship.

Zak would never have him. Not now – not ever.

Making 'contact' with Thrace and Kara, Starbuck shot for the sky.

Accelerating, she flipped the Raider and fired one round at the Viper on her 'six' – play time was over. Spinning away but not exploding, the Viper was taken off of the board.

Flipping back around, she was once again facing front and took aim at the spiny ship. Kicking in her burners, she let every second it took for 'her' Raider to hit the BaseStar be an opportunity to re-live some of the better moments in her life.

Then, everything went black.

Starbuck never felt the Raider cleave the hull of the ship, tunnel through the decks, venting more and more of the BaseStar into space only to tumble end-for-end when she ploughed down and into the cavernous hanger bay.

Starbuck died as she always envisioned she would – in a ball of fiery glory that was a match for her own fiery spirit.

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Sliding on some of the conductive fluid that spilled from his Kara's tank, anger, fury and the need for retribution ignited Zak's face. Persephone was going to pay for her treachery.

"Hard disconnect – NOW!"

Lieutenant Thrace called on every ounce of emotional pain she had ever known, every instance of mental anguish – true mental anguish – that she had ever experienced and every painful memory that she possessed and faced it head on, while at the same time she combined it with the physical pain she had held at bay for the past seven weeks.

Releasing that combined pain even as the needles withdrew and the bindings keeping her in place snapped open, a smug smirk – the last vestiges of Starbuck – spread across her face. Zak was too late.

The bio-feedback was flooded – not with impulses being fed into her body, but pushed out to the rest of the ship – with the pain that three people harboured in one lifetime.

Across the BaseStar, Centurions sparked and keeled over like an internal off switch had been tripped. Humanoid models clutched their heads and looked at each other and saw blood vessels burst in the others' eyes before dropping to the floor. Some died where they fell; others felt their silica pathways become irrevocably damaged. Even the Hybrid, with Leoben by her side, rolled her eyes and her lids fell as she died in her tank – she was free to be part of the cosmos that she had always communed with and cherished.

Not sensing the pulse of the Heart of the BaseStar was when Lieutenant Thrace died, doing her duty and placing the needs of others before hers – for the second time.

It was Kara who made it possible for Thrace and Starbuck to do what they did. Everything hinged on it and Kara didn't let them down. She had to let them go, to do what only they could do, and not pull them back to her when she thought she needed them. That was the crucial element behind Sharon's words. That was the plan that she came up with when she 'ordered' Sharon to implant subliminal thoughts in her subconscious so that when she used the pain from her body to overcome the conditioning and drugs that Zak and Simon pumped into her body, that there would be one more weapon for her to use: her past, the suffering that she endured, the conflicts in her mind that never ceased to end.

Facing Zak did that for her.

On some level, she was aware of the explosions that were tearing the BaseStar apart. But it didn't matter, because everything stopped hurting. She was only vaguely aware of the change in temperature when her glass 'tub' shattered as another Raider slammed into the BaseStar and sent Zak and Simon skidding away from her as the fluid spilled everywhere.

She did feel the impact of the BaseStar crash landing, because that was when she was bounced out her chair and the intravenous line ripped from her hand. Sliding on the muck on the floor of the lab, streaking the fluid with trails of blood from her wounds, she only stopped when her back hit the far wall. One ear pressed to the floor, she could just barely make out the words the two Cylons were shouting at each other to get the extinguishers and find out what was going on from the Command Centre.

That was when her eyes closed. She never saw the support beams that came down from overhead or the fire that started in the opposite corner of the room

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	19. Chapter 19: Promises Kept Part One

Another Way Chapter 19

Promises Kept: Part One

Waves after waves of dizziness were making the chin of her helmet bounce off her chest. The pin-points of light that made up the surrounding starfield alternately shrank to nothingness and expanded into large fiery balls with every loll of her head. It was like the aftershocks of a tectonic quake. But instead of the ground shaking, the vibrations were strumming the faint link between her and those trapped on the Cylon BaseStar.

"Blackbird – this is Kat. I repeat. Straying from the specified flight path will result in your immediate destruction." There was no mistaking just how badly Kat wanted an excuse to blow her out of the sky.

Force of will and controlled blinking cleared her vision, but vertigo was challenging her sense of direction. The bio-mechanical connection that was used to make Raider after Raider collide head-on with the Cylon equivalent of a Battlestar was still affecting her. Galactica was looming in front of her, but it was impossible to gauge her distance and pitch. Landing had never been Boomer's forte, and what she knew was based on what the Raptor pilot had learned and passed on to her fellow Models.

"Galactica – patch me through to Actual."

Gorge rose and fell at the back of her throat. Acidic fumes singed the inside of her nose as she breathed through another reverberation spearing her silica pathways, compounding the damage already afflicting her systems. She needed to put more distance between her and Starbuck's valour.

Starbuck.

Oh, God.

She did it.

She actually did it.

One woman, one warrior, one pilot brought down a whole frakking BaseStar.

Tears spangled her lashes as the same feelings of loss and guilty gratitude washed over her for a second time. Blinking her eyes clear, there was still nothing she could do for Starbuck. But maybe, just maybe, she could still do something for those who loved her.

"Colonel, I need to speak with Galactica Actual."

Authority backed her every word and Colonel Tigh's voice filled her helmet.

"Why the hell would I allow that, Blackbird?"

Sharon felt the sting of – gratefulness? – for the 'no way in Hell' treatment she was receiving from the XO. Butting heads with Tigh was giving her something to focus on, making her put everything that she didn't need to get onboard aside for the time being.

"Tell Actual that I… Tell the Commander that I have…" Why was it so hard to say such simple words, to keep the promise she made to a woman who had it within her to give up her life for a second time? "Tell him that I retrieved the artefact."

It was an even longer moment before she heard an answer crackle over the wireless.

"Galactica to Kat – you are ordered to escort the Blackbird and its pilot to Airlock F-Thirty-Eight, starboard."

Pulling on the stick, Sharon changed course even as she heard the glorified nugget acknowledge Tigh's missive.

Swinging around the far side of Galactica in a gentle arch, putting the Battlestar between her and the weakening ripples of feedback that were damaging her synapses helped stabilize her a bit. The vertigo subsided enough so that her reflexes had a chance to kick in just in time to bring in her ship. A persistent beeping from her 'threat display' confirmed that the Viper pilot didn't break weapons-lock until the airlock seals fell back into place. The landing might not have been text book, but the ship was in one piece and neither she – nor anyone else – was a smear that needed to be hosed off the deck.

Blinking away the brightness of the light flooded airlock – large enough to be a shuttle landing bay – the dull thud of a ladder being set against the carbon-composite shell of the Blackbird was her signal to pop her canopy and shed her helmet. Slipping the metal collar off her neck, the need to hurry made sure she didn't waste any time extricating herself or climbing out of the ship. Picking her way down the steps, even before her feet touched the deck, the sensation of someone standing behind her had her sliding her eyes to the far right. Gunny was there, weapon drawn and safety off, poised and ready to fire. Ignoring the way the deck was swaying underneath her boots or how she could feel irregularities in the major life-sustaining areas of her body growing, Sharon made herself find her feet as she stifled a deprecating comment about human foolishness.

"You'd better start talking." Colonel Tigh rolled a threat, a promise and a frayed thread of hope into one sentence.

Squaring her shoulders, she fortified her impatience with the solid conviction. She was not going to be intimidated by this man and he was definitely playing with someone out of his league. But, if forcing his hand was going to get her to who, what, and where she needed to go, then so be it.

"The only way you're going to be hearing about what happened today is if you're lucky enough to be standing next to Adama when he debriefs me." High-handed, she made sure Tigh understood exactly what his options were and where he stood.

"Who the hell are you to say something like that, huh?" Attempting to feed the Marines around him from the same dish of superiority that he was trying to serve to her, Saul countered her cavalier stance with justifiable indignation. "What ever you need to tell the Old Man, you can damn well say to me."

"Then you can tell the Commander – for me – that YOU'RE the reason why SAR got there too late to bring Starbuck home." The strength of a woman, pilot and warrior, who out-endured, out-planned and conquered adversaries greater than the officer standing in her way, pulsed underneath Sharon's tongue. Competing against a clock – not some stubborn man's pride – stiffened her spine, making it crystal clear that today was not the day to frak with her.

The truth of her words and the amount of clout she put behind Starbuck's name changed the air in the landing bay.

The armed guards still had their weapons trained on her, but the way their eyes slid to the older man… she wasn't the one who was pinned in their crosshairs. Recalling each of their names, there wasn't one among them who hadn't been on a mission with the absentee Viper pilot. Pale skinned by nature, a face that hadn't felt the warmth of a sun for months blanched for a moment before a flush of colour spread from the collar of his uniform and wrapped around the back of his head. His lips pursing, she could see the struggle to make the correct decision harden the older man's eyes. A flash of insight softened her heart; Saul was being obstinate because he was trying to protect his friend. Each man knew what it meant for her to be back onboard. She would set them straight later, but right now Starbuck didn't have time for Sharon to tip-toe around feelings. Instead, she locked her empathy away for safe-keeping. She could offer it another day – maybe at Starbuck's memorial. At the moment, she had to make sure she didn't give Tigh any quarter as she waited for him to make up his mind.

Seconds crawled by before she saw an impatient hand gesture. Signalling to the Marines who had taken formation around him, two stepped forward. The sound of body bindings being unravelled and the interlocking stays on a bullet-proof vest being pulled apart were muted as orders were given and instructions confirmed.

Sharon made herself stay still as the cold lengths of chains rolled her shoulders forward and minimized her stride. She was being bound because of the fear others had of her and that was their problem, not hers. And the reason she lifted her chin as the metal cuffs clicked shut and met anyone's eyes who tried to gauge what was between her and Galactica's OX was directly because of Kara Thrace. For six days she was privy to the other woman living the difference between subjecting oneself to a certain situation made by choice and refusing to be subjugated by a situation perceived to be futile. Translating her insights to Starbuck-speak, she could practically hear Starbuck braying her motto from the cockpit of her Viper with the kind of resigned conviction that comes from one who lives and dies by her beliefs: _you gotta pay to play and you can't bitch about the price if you already know what it's gonna cost_.

Chancing a look at the few people that moved aside as she, her Marine detail and Colonel Tigh made their way to the command deck, the cold, disdainful treatment she'd been given barely a week ago by the crew was now directed at the Executive Officer. What she'd picked up on when she defied Tigh was ship-wide. Perceptions had shifted over the past six days. Nearly stumbling when her insights broke her stride, she made a mental note to ask Helo about it the next time she saw him.

Oh, God – Helo!

It wasn't that she'd forgotten about him – far from it. It was the fact that she couldn't take the chance to think about him while she was on the BaseStar. The Hybrid would've certainly picked up on how important the man was to her, no matter how carefully she veiled her thoughts. Escaping from the BaseStar and following Starbuck's plan required every bit of guile she had. Remembering the past six days, the fact that Starbuck never asked her about Helo and only mentioned the Adamas that one time was something that she didn't understand until a mere two hours ago. It wasn't until she was making her way to the Cylon hanger bay that she fully understood why the only time Kara ever spoke of anyone on Galactica was when she gave Sharon her last possession, the one that guaranteed Helo would see the birth of his child first hand. Just like Kara giving herself up to the Cylons was a conscious and deliberate decision, the same was true of her and the way she walked away from her people. Getting into the Blackbird and beating the path – paved by Starbuck – back to Galactica meant that she could never go back to her brothers and sisters. Her child was half Karl's and half hers – not community property to aid in the Cylon war cause or a demi-deity to be prayed to and lauded. She'd need her wits about her now, but not to the same extent as being a double-agent on an enemy vessel. No. For the moment, all she had to do was go toe-to-toe with the Old Man, keep putting one foot in front of the other and manage her increasingly debilitating symptoms. Been there – done that. But being back on Galactica meant she had just enough latitude to let personal feelings creep through her defences.

A sudden veering to the left caught her by surprise but already being in-step with her protective guard had her taking the turn before she could say anything.

Pausing momentarily in front of a pair of glass and steel reinforced double doors that read 'Ops Planning', she and her group crossed the threshold, leaving two Marines to stand guard outside.

The room was large and dark – but deliberately so. Wall sconces provided diffused light, but the primary illumination came from a large table bisected by a broad, vertical Planning Board. Three different layouts had been prepared. On one side of the table was a navigational chart highlighted by Galactica, the few support ships that were still nearby, and the area of space that previously held the attacking BaseStar. The other half of the table was the tactical layout of the moon as it pertained to – what looked like – mining operations. The final segment, the vertical Planning Board, displayed – in cross-section – what Colonial Intelligence believed represented the schematics of a BaseStar. Four gold dots, clustered in two different areas, were moving deeper into the superstructure. She watched as the image of the Cylon ship scrambled and reconfigured only to wobble seconds after it stabilized. Interference from the moon and the BaseStar was impeding the two-way signal. Standing near the Board, with his hands clasped behind his back, a very silent, rigid, Adama gave the impression that he was trying to improve the quality of the transmissions by sheer force of will. Minutely turning his head, Adama broke his vigil long enough to watch his XO and resident Cylon claim floor space on the opposite side of the Board.

Tigh gave a salute that the older man barely nodded in response to – his eyes were fixed on hers. His gaze, heavy with the veneer of command, was one she returned in equal measure. They each had a job to do and they both were going to see it done. There were a lot of things she learned from Starbuck over the past six days, and the value of conviction was another one of those lessons that she knew she would carry for the rest of her life. An even briefer hand motion had Gunny kneeling behind her and taking off her leg irons.

Shifting her legs, more to keep the weakness she was feeling at bay rather than restore circulation to her feet, she rested her bound hands against the board. Tilting her head slightly to the side, the room wasn't as silent as she initially thought. Mounted close to the ceiling were multiple DRAEDIS displays flanked by a set of speakers. Chatter was playing in the background. Specifically, two indiscriminate voices she couldn't identify due to poor sound quality were trading information back and forth at regular intervals. Scanning the board didn't do any good nor did it tell her anything. She needed information and there was only one voice she wanted to hear filling in the blanks. Refocusing her attention on Adama, she started another round of The Waiting Game.

A garbled transmission struggled to be heard. "… We are coming up on an intersection now."

"Copy that." Static overwhelmed whatever else was said. "We're still making our way down this frakking corridor… looks the same!" Frustration was palatable, despite the scratchy relay.

"Same here; every intersection, every stretch looks exactly the same." Screeching feedback strained everyone's ears just before the audio cut out altogether. Adama flicked his eyes to the officer manning the communications console. Seconds later, the first voice was picked up again, in mid-sentence. "…is making it impossible to get our bearings. Have you encountered any functioning Cylons or Centurions?"

"Negative…clankers and skin jobs seem to be dead or dying." Heavy breathing, not interference, made the words hard to understand.

"Copy that; same here." A deep rumbling could be heard over the wireless, followed by intermittent static. Within seconds, the line was dead.

Adama's eyes went to the Specialist. "Find that frequency. Fast."

There would be only one reason for Adama to be so domineering to a subordinate. Apollo was off-ship and probably somewhere on the surface of the moon. And with Starbuck being dead, there would only be one other officer Apollo would have watching his back. Shifting her attention between the table and the Board, the men were at one of two places: the mining camp or the downed BaseStar. The only place Apollo would need Helo to watch his back would be onboard a crash-landed BaseStar. Logic kicked in and she fit the pieces together. The moving gold dots were Helo and Apollo leading two different teams through the BaseStar and the voices over the wireless belonged to Lee and Karl. Mentally superimposing their location with her knowledge of the actual layout of a BaseStar, they were too far away! If she could only talk to them, she could guide them.

Stifling another accusatory remark, her wide eyes skewered the Specialist currently bent over the communications console. "Where is the primary feed?"

Twisting and turning dials under Tigh's glare, the Specialist didn't answer her question.

"Tell me where the primary feed is!" Louder and more forceful, her question was fired at Adama. Helo and Apollo were down there, as well as Starbuck, and these two humans were ignoring her. Yanking off her flight gloves and dropping them to the floor, the coolness of the room bit into her fingers. An effortless toss carried a single object across the room.

The clattering of metal bouncing, settling and eventually becoming still had all eyes on the Planning Board. A small single circular shape meant to be worn by a man loomed as large as the table and Sharon felt all the air in the room being used up in one collective breath.

Starbuck's ring – something less than an inch in diameter – dwarfed everyone and everything in the room.

Her eyes flashing with exasperation, using the oxygen in her lungs she explained, "Hooking me up to the primary feed means that I can boost the signal."

Waiting for some kind of response as the need to breathe grew for everyone standing in Ops Planning, she prayed that she could keep herself on her feet long enough to do what she was demanding they let her do

Adama's nod to Gunny was like an air-vent being opened. "Make it so."

"I'll need two things." Sharon told them her last two stipulations. "I'll need the use of my hands and something sharp to cut with, Commander."

Making no move to retrieve Kara's ring, his father's wedding ring, he looked to his left one more time, "Give her your knife, Marine"

Xxx Bsg Xxx

More than once, Helo contemplated pulling his ear piece from his aural canal, grinding it underneath the heel of his boot and feigning innocence as to what happened to it. Between the static, the screeching feedback and the way he had to press the blasted thing almost to his other ear just hear what was being said, he wouldn't surprised if Cottle fitted him for a hearing-aid once he got back to Galactica.

At the moment, fighting the urge to claw at his molars as a burst of static made his teeth itch, the lack of any type of markers was superseding his hearing problems. Every corridor looked like the last and with the radiation badges gradually darkening as the ship's internal explosions became more pronounced and making bearings impossible to take, he wouldn't be surprised if he found out that he and his team had been walking upside down and backwards. His initial idea of keeping track of where they went by the bodies they passed proved to be futile when he saw the same clothes on the same bodies over and over again. Never in a million years did he ever think he would get sick of seeing a hot blonde in an even hotter red dress.

Stepping over an short, older man – some model he somehow never saw on Caprica – he pressed himself flat against the wall as two of his men moved forward and scouted ahead, leaving him to bring up the rear. Guarding against anything that might come up behind them, he waited for the signal. A brief hand movement had him moving forward with another Marine, each staking out one side of the hallway. Striding past where the previous two soldiers had stopped, turned, and covered his advance, they waited for his signal to move further down the corridor as he and his point-man covered their collective 'six'. Leap-frogging since separating from Apollo, no one on his team had gotten hurt and as far as he knew, their presence was still undetected.

Ready to leap-frog again, his teeth suddenly stopped itching.

"SitRep, Helo?"

Apollo's voice was coming through loud and clear.

"Just taking in the sites but making new friends is proving to be tougher than I thought." A single, controlled shot to the head of a writhing Leoben model stilled the skinjob for good. Nodding to the Marine who gave him a 'thumbs up' for the clean shot, he asked, "What about you?"

"About the same, only it's been a while since we've seen anything." A tenor of being prepared for the worse to happen at any moment rounded out Lee's report. "Where are you?"

"No idea – but I know how to get out, if that means anything. What about-"

"Galactica to Insertion Team – standby for in-coming communications from Galactica Actual," a disembodied voice cut Helo off in mid-sentence.

"Go ahead, Actual." Apollo answered for both of them.

The gravelled voice of Commander Adama flowed into Helo's – and by extension – Lee's ears. "Apollo, your mission profile has changed."

"Acknowledge that Actual. What are our orders?" Helo heard Apollo ask for both of them and wondered what he could give to see the perplexed look on Lee's face right about now.

"Helo, Apollo – listen carefully. You are in-"

Being interrupted before, it was Helo's turn to cut in as he placed the voice that was coming in over the mikes. "Sharon?"

"Yeah – it's me. Listen – both of you – I'm gonna talk you through this."

Helo, and by extension Lee, could hear the deep breath she drew.

"Helo – you are on the border of the lower right quadrant of the BaseStar – three levels below Apollo and his team. Apollo – you and your men have crossed over – for the lack of a better word – to one of the outer branches of ship. You need to change direction and go back the way you came."

"Galactica Actual – still standing by to receive new orders," Captain Adama words were firm and clipped.

"You don't have time, Apollo. Listen to me-"

"Galactica Actual – I repeat," Lee barrelled through what she was trying to say and attempted to drown out Sharon's urgency.

"Llll… " It was the strained voice of a father who lost one too many children, not the stoic Commander Adama, who gave the answer that Lee demanded to hear. "Come on home, and bring her with you."

Stunned silence had him opening and closing his mouth – he could just imagine what Lee was doing.

"Sharon – what the hell is going on?" Karl needed to know that what he just heard was what he just heard. "Talk to me!"

"Apollo, Helo – it's true. How do you think I made it back?"

Helo didn't need to see her face to see the tears glistening in her dark eyes.

"Where is she?" Apollo ground out. By the terseness of his words, it sounded like his lips barely moved.

"Apollo, you need to know something. When you find her, she's going to be… How much gauze do you have in your medkit? You're gonna need something to… cover her… during transport."

Harsh breathing of a man struggling to control his emotions cut off what she was going to say, "Where is she!"

Interjecting, Helo kept his tone even but the need to know where to find his best friend pitched his voice low, "Sharon – who can get to her first – me or Apollo?"

"Apollo, you're closer." The ambient sounds of Lee rousing his men didn't make him miss what Sharon was saying. "Turn around and head back the way you came." The change in her voice told him she was speaking to him now, but for some reason her breathing was harsher than it was a moment ago. "Helo, you are going to have to keep going straight until you see…"

The rise and fall of Sharon's voice as she gave directions and course adjustments made him think that there was something else wrong that she wasn't telling them – him. Following her directions was the easy part – the hard part was keeping himself from emotionally going where he knew Lee was at the moment. Lee was pure Captain Adama, possessing a mission profile that he would fulfil. There was a second set of orders that Helo always carried, and those were given to him by the one person who cared about Lee more than Lee cared about himself: Kara. Lee spoke of a pact that existed between him and Kara, but what Lee didn't know was that when they were all sitting in that conference room, reviewing the playback of Starbuck's surrender that first time, Karl made a promise to the best friend a man could have in one lifetime. He promised Kara that he would do what she couldn't any longer; he'd make sure Lee always came home to the Old Man as alive as possible. Part of that deal was going to involve making sure Lee had a private place hurl his accusations at the universe after they personally delivered Kara's body to Galactica's mortician.

The harsh staccato of gun fire had him slipping off his safety and cocking his weapon to his chest.

The sounds weren't coming from his immediate area – they were coming from his earpiece.

Apollo was in trouble.

Barking into his mike, Helo held up his hand to signal his men to stop as he pressed a hand to his ear. "Apollo – SitRep!"

The sound of a fresh clip being chambered wasn't something he wanted to hear, but the familiar voice speaking around the gunfire told him Apollo was still with him. "Two skinjobs – maybe three – and a clanker; clanker's functional but erratic. Hard to see, it's spraying bullets everywhere. I think it's blind."

"Sharon – talk to me. Get me to Apollo's position!" Helo called out. He knew how fast a corridor could fill up with smoke and debris when survival was on the line. They would need everything they had to fight what was in front of them and nothing left over to watch their backs.

Static bloomed in his ear and his teeth started to itch again.

Oh, frak!

"Sharon?" Calling out again, he tried someone else. "Apollo!" Frustration shortened his temper. "Somebody had better answer me right frakking now!"

"The two skinjobs are down and the clanker has a gaping hole in its head. If there was a third, I don't know where it went." Adrenaline ran his Captain's words together. "Two men are hit; administering medical aid. Standby."

"Acknowledge – standing by, Apollo." Helo braced his hands on his hips to keep from yanking out the blasted earpiece. Another wail of high-pitched feedback had him closing his eyes and jerking his head to the side trying to get away from the noise.

An ugly feeling, a lot like the one he had as he watched Kara take off the day she gave herself up, crawled between his shoulder blades.

"Apollo – SitRep?"

No answer.

"Captain- SitRep?"

No answer.

The dread that he failed his best friend when she was counting on him the most squeezed his chest and that ugly feeling became uglier.

"APOLLO – ANSWER ME!"

Xxx Bsg Xxx

A gaping hole made in haste by a huge knife stretched from the inside elbow to the cuff of her flight suit. Thin rivulets of blood were trailing down her inner arm from where she cut into herself in order to make an insertion point for the primary feed.

Crouched next to her where she collapsed into unconsciousness and having yanked the cord out of her sub-dermis data port, the communication specialist had Sharon's wrist cradled in his fingers.

"Her pulse is there – but it's weak." Looking up at the Commander and the Colonel, he didn't know how much more he could tell them. Running his other hand over her forehead and cheek, he added, "Her skin is clammy but she isn't hot – you know – as in fever."

Adama looked up, but Gunny had already picked up the wall-mounted phone.

"Page Doctor Cottle. Tell him to report to Ops Planning with a full trauma and natal team. Cylon Number Eight, Sharon, is unconscious and non-responsive."

Bsg Xxx Bsg

Something was nudging her. Someone was trying to keep her awake, telling her that she couldn't sleep. Not just yet. There were still things she had to do and promises she had to keep.

The thought that Artemis, Athena, Ares and Aphrodite had rallied to their Daughter's side as, one by one, each whispered words of encouragement and made assurances of everlasting peace was what she saw in her mind. Slowly awaking, the cold smoothness at her back told her it was the wall. The echo of a near-distant blast shook the room and rolled her against the wall.

Cracking open her eyes, forcing her crusted eyelashes to separate, all she could see were various shades of fuzz. Trying harder, sounds sharpened before her sight came back into focus. Blearily, she could just make out the colour of a pair of pants and the thick soles of a pair of boots staggering for the entryway.

Closing her eyes, trying to muster some energy, the memory of looking down at Lee through the view port of a Raider as she 'flew' overhead, flared into living, breathing colour.

She had to get up. She could do anything until she got on her feet.

Trying to stand landed her on her hands and knees and her insides pulling back to touch her spine. The harshness of bile and the strong metallic tang of blood seared a path from her stomach to her lips. The drugs that Zak and Simon had administered were still coursing through her systems and the sensations of being dead in a Raider, dead to the rest of the world, clashed with the reality of the moment. Vicious dizziness squeezed her stomach again and a cold sweat crept up underneath the layer of slime that coated her body as another wave of dry-heaves blazed along the same path, this time getting snagged on internal sores and bruises.

Scrounging around in her mind for some inkling of what was wrong with her – beyond the obvious – it took several seconds before she gave up trying. She didn't have to be frakking Cottle to know that three things were certain. Something was wrong with her frakking heart, something was up with her frakking blood pressure, and she was seriously frakked-up all the way around. Her heart was pumping too hard and every now and then it would race only to slow to a plodding thud that hurt like hell. That's when she wasn't being swamped with sudden, overwhelming, bouts of weaknesses that nearly had her doing face-to-deck implants. Taking in the shaking that wobbled her upper arms, the amniotic-like ooze that wasn't sticking to her skin was pooling at her knees, feet and wrists. The bright red colour of fresh blood trailing down from different areas of her body and marbling the goop was something that she couldn't think about at the moment.

"Get. Up. Thrace!" Growling at herself, she pushed herself to her knees and slowly rose. The slime that covered her naked body was still wet and made the journey upright dangerous. The least the Gods could've done was warned her about this part.

Clutching at the support beams that had come down, the cabinets bursting into flame and the popping of glass medicine vials had her shielding her face from the heat of the fire that was quickly engulfing the room. Gagging on a bit of bile that was trapped at the base of her throat, woozy vision and overall bodily weakness made the doorway seem awfully far away. Spitting and clearing her mouth, there was nothing for it. Plan 'B' – staying where she was and self-medicating her way to some semblance of being somewhat functional – wasn't an option.

Step-sliding into the corridor, she looked left and right. The smart thing would be to head for the hanger bay and find a way out of the BaseStar. The smeared hand print on the wall told her that what she had sworn to do lay in the opposite direction.

"Okay – just keep walking. Put one foot in front of the other. That's all you have to do."

Keeping one hand the wall for support, step-lurching was the best she could manage as 'the smart thing to do' became the one thing she wouldn't do.

The mental images of rounds being fired out of the gunports of 'her Raider' merged with the sounds of a weapons exchange taking place somewhere nearby. Her toes squeezed the carpeting underneath her feet but in front of her she saw formations Raiders flanking their 'leader' and felt the blood-lust for battle tingle her skin as incoming Vipers emerged from the surrounding starfield. Not trusting herself to stay upright if she shook her head to stamp down the memory, she kept her eyes on the contrast between where her pale hands trailed along the side wall of the corridor and the dark background of the wall itself.

The sound of an explosive round detonating connected her with the sensation of riding out the shockwave of an exploding Raider as it tumbled across her flight path.

Stopping and rolling forward until her forehead and the points of her shoulders rested against the cool wall, she slapped the wall again and again with an open palm. Reality, induced fantasy, physical pain and the hell of being a Cylon weapon for the past seven weeks made that little bit of her psyche that was always just a little bit crazy look like a viable place to spend the rest of her life.

Now that was a thought. Oh yeah – she could be happy living in Droolville. She would get her own 'I love myself jacket', everything would be nice and white and, if she was lucky, even the walls would be padded. She could jump against them all day and it would never hurt! And drugs – can't forget about those wonderful Happy Pills.

Maybe.

Frowning, a sudden drawback popped into her head. What if they didn't let her go out in her Viper and blow stuff up? That wouldn't be very much fun. How could a girl be happy being beyond insane if they took away all her toys?

Maybe she could?

Maybe she couldn't.

But not yet.

If the Gods told her she couldn't rest yet, then she couldn't go completely nuts just yet either.

Opening her eyes, she knew she was 'back'. The only sounds she heard were those of the BaseStar slowly self-destructing. The only thing she saw was the expanse of the corridor. She had taken too long to get her head together. The gun fire had stopped. That meant that someone won and someone lost. Her lips curled at the thought of Cylons killing Cylons. Go ahead - annihilate each other – be her guest. The more they killed each other, the fewer she had to fight her way through to fulfil the Blood Rites she claimed.

Shoulder intermittently to the wall and the palm of her hand helping to push her along, each step built on the last until she managed to create an unsteady gait. Tracking her prey, a prevailing coldness was seeping into her bones even as intense heat radiated off of her back. Every bit of her from her nape to her coccyx felt like it was on fire. Whether it was due to blood loss, low blood pressure, infection or being wet and naked was anyone's guess. But it looked like the Gods' sense of irony had returned as, for the past forty-eight days, she'd been surrounded by Cylons and now, when she needed one, there wasn't one to be found.

Taking a left at the next junction, something was lying in the corridor. Getting closer, a big, dark blur of 'something' became several dark blurs of 'some things'.

Bodies were crumpled heaps on the ground up a head and smoke from a smouldering Centurion hugged the ceiling.

Three black clad forms clogged the hallway and recognition traded the concentration she was counting on to stay upright for the need to know if her fellow Colonials were alive or dead. Crouching down next to the nearest one, two bullets were causing blood to barely seep from wounds in the Marine's upper arm and lower hip. Wiping her hand against the carpeted floor to get rid of as much residual slime as she could and reaching for an artery of the next soldier, she couldn't distinguish between her heartbeat and his, but his skin was warm and pliable and he rolled when her weight fell against him as she lost her balance. The third was struggling to regain consciousness, but it would be a while before he fully roused. All three were alive, but there was nothing she could do for them. Not in the state she was in and she couldn't wait for them to come to their senses – she didn't have enough time for that.

The sound of gurgling and the rattling of lungs fighting to expand a ribcage drove her to her feet only to collapse next to a prone form. More woozy vision made it impossible for her to see who she was checking out, but the squelching sound of her hand sinking into blood soaked carpeting she would know anywhere. Who ever she was touching was a goner.

She was kneeling next to a Simon. Nearby, a Doral lay with a chest full of bullet holes. The lack of blood pressure made the lines of his suit jacket rest slackly against his body. By the looks of things, both Cylons were depending on the destroyed Centurion to defend them.

Realization sharpened her vision and not because she was tending to a Simon. It was 'her' Simon. She knew it the same way that she could separate Leoben from all the other Leoben Models. This was the one who treated her like a lab experiment and facilitated the devastation she wrought.

Adrenaline, the precious fuel of Mortals, filled her veins.

Grabbing his plackets, she hauled him semi-upright and growled in his face, "You son of a bitch! I know these men!"

Eyes glazed with impending death, the blood seeping from his ears was what was killing him but didn't stop him from gasping out, "Told you we'd get him."

"What are you saying, you frakker!" Shaking him, she promised, "Tell me or I swear by the Gods you'll beg to never be downloaded again."

"Got the second-stringer Starbuck," Simon gloated.

"Your third sentence had better be, 'just frakking with you, Starbuck', because-"

"Your Gods can't touch me." Simon cut her off. "Anyway, once he gets him off-ship you're never going to find him. He'll make sure of that."

Convulsions pulled him from her grip and nearly folded his body in half.

Weaker, paler, and with a fine sheen covering his face and neck, the bastard had the nerve to look smug as death rolled his eyes into his head.

Death and incapacitation made for an eerie silence.

Sitting on her heels, it was a fight to keep her mind on task. Second stringer? Who the hell was a second stringer? What the frak was that frakker talking about?

Summoning the will to force herself to her knees one more time, something small and light coloured stood out against the dark carpeting. Saving to her strength for when she did rise, she crawled several yards. Intermittent static reached her ears before her fingers could curl around it. Without a second thought as to where it came from, she hooked it into her ear.

"Apollo – SitRep?"

No answer.

"Captain- SitRep?"

No answer.

"APOLLO – ANSWER ME!"

Sitting up on her heels, Simon's words clicked into place as drag marks, made by a pair of Colonial issued boots and dead-weight, came into sharp relief.

Apollo wasn't going to answer. Whoever was hollering into the earpiece was better off saving their breath and using it later on in life. Palming the communicator, the sensation of Ares, Artemis, Aphrodite and Athena lifting her to her feet was surreal. So was walking over to one of the downed men and stripping him of his two guns and chambering fresh clips.

Coming back to Simon and running her eyes over Simon in his dress-shirt and tie, she justified herself to the corpse. "I need these more than you do."

Reaching for the button-down shirt, it was a few minutes before she could get it off his body. Easing the oversized shirt over her shoulders and doing up the buttons, she picked up his tie and cinched it around her waist. One gun she braced near her right hand, the other at the small of her back. The fabric stuck to the muck that coated her body and glued itself to the gashes between her thighs and nape. The earpiece she slipped into the small front pocket of the shirt.

Fingers, seemingly not her own, brushed her hair off her face and steadied her body.

Simon was wrong when he said that her Gods couldn't touch him.

While she lived and breathed, she was the chosen warrior of Ares, Aphrodite, Artemis and Athena.

What lay between her and Zak was between her and Zak alone. Involving Lee, kidnapping Lee with the intention of doing to him what he had done to her, only made what she had to do all that much easier.

Guided by the Gods and instinct, she headed for the one place she would go if she needed to get off a crashed spaceship with an unconscious hostage in tow.

Zak should have remembered that one of the things he said he 'loved' about Kara 'Starbuck' Thrace was that she never made promises she couldn't keep.

Bsg………. Xxx……….Bsg……….Xxx……….Bsg……….Xxx……….Bsg


	20. Chapter 20: Chapt 19 Pt 2: Promises Kept

**Author's Note**: This is to be read as if you were coming back from a commercial break while you were watching the show.

**Author's Note Two**: There is a passage in this text which has to do with religion. In no way - what so ever - is it a reflection of this author's beliefs nor is it intended to offend anyone who reads that portion of the text. It is just an insight into why the Cylons believe in one, all-powerful, God.

**Author's Note Three:** There will be one more chapter and, maybe, an epilogue... This story isn't done yet!

* * *

Another Way: Chapter 19, Part Two 

Promises Kept

Another explosion rocked the BaseStar.

Deeper in resonance with aftershocks rippling all the way out to the perimeter of the ship, Zak looked expectantly at the light panels. Not because he needed to see where he was going – he knew where he was going. All he needed was just a few more minutes to get there and enough emergency power to propel the lift downward. That's all. Once he got out of the lift, it was a short walk to his Heavy Raider. It was already prepped and ready to go – all he had to do was get there. The reason why he kept his gaze fixed on the display panel was simple. God meant for him to get to where he was going.

Reaching the Evacuation Deck, the doors to the lift bounced against one another once, then twice, before stopping as they came together for a third time. Pushing and forcing the doors to spread just a little bit more was the only way out of the compartment. Two-stepping sideways through the doors, a dull thud had him craning his neck and looking over his shoulder – his other shoulder. Lee's head had glanced off of the metal door as his arms swung limply down Zak's back. Hipbones digging painfully into his collarbone, Zak shifted Lee to a more comfortable position. Adjusting his grip on the back of Lee's knees, his arm jutted out wildly to the left at the same time his vision scrambled. A sharp intake of breath and a violent shake to his arm had everything – muscle spasm and vision – set back to rights. But the bouts were coming more frequently and it was taking longer to get himself under control.

No matter.

He could see it.

His Heavy Raider was just out of sight, but he knew it was there nonetheless – he had the ship relocated from the main hanger bay when Starbuck was brought on board. For some reason, he liked the idea of her not knowing where it was. Once they were away, he and Lee would be free to live in God's Grace and to exist solely to fulfil His purpose. Resentment churned in his chest. Persephone – his Kara – was supposed to be with them. But no – she had to defy Him. She called upon her own false Gods and brought Havoc and Destruction down on Humanity's Children. Disappointment narrowed his eyes and thinned his lips. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Years of planning, plotting and manipulating the fate of a woman intrinsic to both Man and Cylon destiny had been reduced to a battle of wills. All his efforts and those of many others had been consumed in the fiery ball of an exploding Raider; the weapon of choice wielded by a damaged pilot who, by her own hand, had forsaken God's healing embrace and the commitment he had to their love.

Looking around him, the Evacuation Deck looked like the images he had seen, filed in the Cylon archives, of the Atlantia as his brothers and sisters destroyed the mighty Battlestar from the inside-out. Support girders of every size, companionways, access ladders and stations had fallen haphazardly within the area, gouging the walls and crushing anything and everything beneath them. Built to encompass the size of two full decks, escape pods were stacked one-on-top-of-another and an observation ledge, complete with its own lifts, ringed the second story. Primary lighting pulsed and flickered only to cut out all together. The strategically placed glow panels, emergency lights, only added to the number of dark places around him. The smell of spilled tylium tainted the air. Acrid scents of burning electrical connections and the reek of cooked Raider were nearly overpowering.

Weaving and climbing through the worst of the wreckage cost him time he knew he didn't have. His faith couldn't save him if he was still onboard when the craft blew up. Precursors to a major, ship-wide explosion were vibrating the very beams he was using to brace himself against as he pulled Lee's dead weight in and out of snug gaps in the debris. More than once, he heard the sound of metal striking metal as battle-fatigue took its toll on the decimated BaseStar. His depth perception was all but gone, but he could still use line-of-sight to plot a route to his Heavy Raider. Reshouldering his 'brother' with single-minded determination, he crossed the deck and kept his eyes on his ship.

Close enough to see the carbon scoring that set his Raider apart from the other escape crafts, a sudden cascade of sparks – raining from a mangled overhead socket – had him jumping backwards. Shielding his eyes, a bright flash coincided with a support beam crashing down, taking with it lengths of an auxiliary power cable and trapping the thick line underneath its weight. Falling in front of him, the free end jerked and sparked just to his left – right where he needed to go. Grabbing an item off of Lee's vest, he tossed it onto the downed support beam and watched as it started to smoke and burn. Setting Lee down on his side, away from the dangerously sparking cable, Zak put his hands on his hips. His knee buckled; an episode of 'pins and needles' nearly collapsed one of his legs. Forcing his eyes to focus, it was an absent motion that had him wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. The fact that a thin line of blood marred his cuff barely registered as he turned his mind to getting around his newest obstacle.

Two sudden noises shattered two glow panels high and to the right of him.

Two more gunshots, each fired one after another, shattered the emergency glow panels that were mounted to the wall close to where he was standing. What had been low lighting now became dim. Around him, the remaining glow panels occasionally pulsed more brightly, trying to compensate for the lack of adequate light, but it was the over-loaded circuitry that made the ambient lights strobe. A corner of his mouth kicked up as he shook his head and lifted his head to the ceiling of the deck. A rueful chuckle spread his lips as he berated himself for not hearing the 'the mouse' scurrying about in the 'rafters'.

"A little dramatic – even for you – don't ya think?" Still facing his Raider, he lifted his voice to the far corners of the Evacuation Deck. "You sure you want to play it this way, Kara?"

bsg xxx bsg

_Once he gets him off-ship, you're never going to find him. He'll make sure of that._

Simon's dying words crowed in her ears as she stumble-ran to the lifts. If she needed to get off-ship with a hostage in-tow, the Evacuation Deck would be the one place she would go.

A sense of panic caused the hairs on her arms to rise when the power cut out and the lift stopped. Curling her free hand into a fist and slowly releasing her fingers, an icy calmness travelled underneath every inch of her skin. The Gods lift those who lift each other. They had gotten her this far so that she could keep her pact; there was no way They were going to let something like a power outage stop their Daughter from getting to where she needed to go.

Stepping through the silently parting doors, her eyes adjusted to the low light. Quartering the Deck and visually sweeping each section systematically was when she saw Zak carrying Lee. They were yards from a Heavy Raider.

That couldn't happen – no matter what.

Options being limited, she travelled left. Throwing a leg over a railing, wincing as the metal bar repeatedly snagged inches of her still-tacky skin, she crouched down and force-threaded her body between a pair of steps of an access ladder that had been wrenched from its mounting. Lying on her side, a good fifteen feet above the decking, she extended an arm. Deliberately overlooking how the dots of blood seeping through the fabric of her shirt were growing, she focused solely on her target. Closing one eye and sending a prayer to Artemis, she took aim and crooked her index finger towards her palm. _Frak!_ Her shot was true, the idea was sound and the socket was mangled, but it wasn't enough.

Twisting to her back made her whole body shudder with an all encompassing wave of pain. A fresh layer of cold sweat coated her skin as her tortured back scraped along the step she had levered herself against. Ignoring the cold-wet trails snaking down the groove of her spine, she looked around to see what she could use for 'Plan B'. A long, decently-sized beam looked like it was just the right length and if Hercules were around, she would just ask him to pick it up and drop it down for her. But, seeing as she left the ancient hero 'in her other pants', she looked at it objectively.

"Thrace – I swear – sometimes you couldn't find your way out of a paper bag even if it had the bottom already cut out of it," she murmured. Making a mental note to tell Lee that his penchant for over-thinking was contagious, she hunkered down on her haunches and rolled her eyes at herself. She didn't have to lift the blasted thing – all she had to do was push it and let gravity do the rest.

Sidling up to the beam, she pressed her feet against it. Powered by her weight, the muscles in her thighs became rock hard as she pushed. The beam slid a little and teetered but it was being stubborn. Tucking her shirttail fully underneath her bottom and scooting closer, she braced her feet and extended her legs one more time. Need took priority over the fact that her body started to slide; the lash-marks that striped the backs of her legs were bleeding. Watching the beam tip past its recovery angle, a kiss launched off of the tip of her middle finger sailed in the same direction that the beam continued to fall.

A stupid idea, because it was going to hinder her as much as Zak, became 'Plan C'. But there was nothing for it; the cable she brought down wasn't going to stop him for long. Bullets she had, time she didn't. The area became darker as four more glow panels ceased to work.

Picking her way downward, Zak's question wafted into her ears.

"If you hadn't taken something that didn't belong to you, we wouldn't be playing this at all." Answering him loudly, Kara squeezed off another couple of rounds to distract him while she changed her position.

"We don't have to do this, Kara."

His voice carried over to where she was lowering herself down and onto a length of companionway that was jammed against a girder. _Oh, Lords – don't let me fall now! _Her balance faltered and her foot came down – hard – to keep herself from falling. Winging 'thanks' to Ares for her knee not giving out, she flattened the arch of her foot against the exposed walkway. The cold metal was the only cold compress she could use. She was going to need both her feet to work to get Lee away from Zak.

"Let him go and we won't." She told him, succinctly, how simple it could be.

"You know I can't do that, Kara." She watched him flit his eyes up, down and sideways, trying to find her hiding spot. "Not now, not after what you did." Zak sounded almost remorseful as he tried to shift the blame for what happened onto her.

"You know, Zak – I think I've told you this before – if you wanna to frak with my head and do the whole guilt-trip thing, you're gonna have to do better than that." Kara informed him, her voice breaking slightly with the exertion it took to brace her fingers on the nearest girder. The ugly drop between her and the floor of the deck still looked ugly. Rolling her lips together at the same time she cinched her pilfered tie more tightly around her waist, everything she had was as secure as it was ever going to get. Whether or not she landed with everything at hand was something she surrendered to the Gods. "Guilt only comes into play if there's something to regret. Can't regret something you don't feel sorry about, Zak."

Sliding forward, she made herself hang there for a precious few seconds. The pain in her shoulders and back was ruthlessly shoved aside in the wake of 'Plan D'. If she was going to land and have any chance of getting up again, she had to make sure she was as still as possible before she let go.

"Okay, Starbuck – time to suck it up." Unclenching her teeth, the words slipped out her lips as the floor rushed up to greet her.

Keeping her knees soft spared her Pyramid injury from re-occurring, but the impact knocked her breath from her lungs. The sound of broken rib bones scraping against one another folded her tongue; sweat beading down from her hairline and through her eyebrows spangling her lashes.

"That sounded like that hurt." Zak snarked. Recovering, he called out, "I bet you regret that, Kara."

Blinking her eyes dry and willing air back into her body, she pushed herself up to her hands and knees. Lords, she was tired of looking down at floors. It was a reflex, one that seven weeks of separation couldn't break, to want to wink at Lee and share the first snide comment that came to her mind. Except, when she glanced to her left, the smirk she looked forward to sharing with him became something else all together when his blue eyes weren't there to meet hers and his prone body was deathly pale and still.

Still concealed, Kara traded sarcasm for quietly spoken double entendre. "Not yet, Zak"

bsg xxx bsg

In his mind, he was on his feet and already taking a swing at whatever snuck up behind him and clocked him on the back of his head when he was trying to tend to his men.

Reality was so much different. For all the time he put in at the gym, he couldn't move a finger much less lift his head. He barely registered that he was being dragged away when blackness overwhelmed him.

Coming to, he was on his side and in a completely different place. Smells were the first thing he recognized – not what they were but that he was aware of them in the first place. He still couldn't open his eyes, but a concerted effort had him rolling onto his stomach and pressing ten fingertips and two flattened palms against the decking. Deep vibrations travelled up the useless muscles of his arms. There was something important about that which he had to remember, but the way it hurt to think made that a secondary concern. Instead, he focused on the muffled sounds and words he couldn't understand that were being traded over his head. At one point, he thought he heard a gun go off.

It was a long couple of minutes before he could pool some strength into his wrists and arms. His hands picked up another set of vibrations as another comment echoed in his ears. Forcing his chest muscles to work in tandem with his arms, his shoulders lifted off the deck a couple of inches before everything gave out. As he grunted with frustration, his whole upper body fell back to the floor. Drawing deep breaths through a dry mouth, he tried again. This time, when his arms gave out, he was ready. When the weakness hit, he tucked his head and landed on his forearms. Not much of an improvement, but the way he was looking at things, every inch he rose brought him closer to understanding the dialogue around him.

"There is no 'God'. You've been lied too – you and every other Cylon in this universe."

"Blasphemy! You're the one who mistaken. With your false Gods and idols, can you ever say that you have felt their presence? I have felt His hand and know of His love."

"You can't convict me of blasphemy if the deity doesn't exist. Think about it. You are a race of machines, programmed to be human. The fear of death has been taken out of the equation of your life; even if you die, you live. You are built around logic and algorithms and have nothing with which to hold you accountable as each generation that comes off the assembly line are more sophisticated than the last. Something had to be done to hold you in check, something had to be created that you, as a race, would not only fear but accept and respect as a way keep your mechanical asses in line. So somebody, somewhere, way back in the very beginning, came up with the notion of making you all 'answer' to one omniscient, all-powerful being that had the capacity to do the one thing that you all only carried a dictionary definition for: love."

"I feel so sorry for you."

"Don't – no need too. I can see my Gods. I know what they look like and who they are and I can hold their representations in my hands and recite their sacraments from memory. They don't need to control human lives because that is not how They are. Tell me something. As wide and as varied as the Universe is, how can one Being hold everything in the palm of his hand?"

"I will not let you do this. My faith is unbreakable."

"What you have been calling 'faith' is nothing more than the warm fuzzies of self-delusion and clever programming."

"I grow weary of this; you are just looking to buy yourself some time. Playtime's over."

The chemical connections between his ears and his brain were hardly functioning. Lee could barely make out what was being said between the person somewhere in front of him and the person – thing – standing behind him.

"Says you – but I don't play by yours – or anyone else's – rules."

"You have and you will again." It was a man's voice that combined a threat and a promise into six words. "God gave you to me, didn't He?"

"Looks like you forgot to read the fine-print. It read: what God giveth, God can taketh away. He – it – whatever – has. You just haven't realized it yet."

"You're still here; He hasn't taken anything away from me." The flaw in her logic was laid open. "In fact, He's doubly blessed me. I have you and him." It was also clear that he, Lee, was being factored into the equation of 'yes, you will vs. no, I won't'.

He could all but see the hand that was being waved in his direction. "Look and see who decided to join us, Kah-"

"You see – that's where you frakked up. Big time," she laid open his fatal error of judgement. "You should've never've brought him into this. This is between you and me and no one else."

Pushing himself to his feet was the easy part. Staying on his feet was proving to be the real challenge. But if he was going to put himself into the game, he had to be a viable player and that meant being upright. The dim light was easy on his concussion sensitive eyes. Blurriness made shapes and colours fuzzy and his vision was still warped.

"Enough of this; come out now or I promise you that I'll kill him where he stands." Somewhere, Lee registered that the man was talking about him and that 'the man' was a Cylon. "I'll reach out, drive my fingers into his flesh, rip out one of his kidneys, and sit back while you, helplessly, watch him bleed to death."

A medium sized figure, not quite clear of the shadows, walking towards him had Lee discovering his holster was empty. Swallowing down the nausea that threatened to spill out of his mouth, Lee spun on his heel and swung blindly at the Cylon standing behind him. The spinning scrambled his sight, but he didn't have to see what he was hitting to land a blow to the skinjob's mid-section. Nor did he see the fist that connected easily with his jaw that sent him stumbling backwards several feet and facing away from his opponent.

Shaking his head to clear ringing in his ears, he centred his weight and shifted into a boxing stance. About to turn and start Round Two, he was stopped by the only thing in the universe could.

"You'll never get close enough." Her blond hair standing out starkly in the low light, her green eyes cold and predatory, with a lethally confident look on her face, the ghost of Kara Thrace took up a protective stance in front of him.

Time slowed.

His heart forgot to beat.

_She's supposed to be…_He watched her as she walked forward, tall and fierce and defiantly alive.

_This is impossible…_ He had been told, by everyone… _I know what I heard when Sharon said_…

Still in slow-motion, her right hand and her voice were aimed at the Cylon behind him as she nullified his promise with a vow of her own. Keeping the Cylon in her sight, he watched as she looked at him. Everything he was feeling, she could see. For a precious few seconds, there was no way he could hold anything back from her, even the thought that she was something his mind had conjured.

"LEE!"

That one word, a command, re-set time.

"Lee! Look at me!" Her voice jump-started his heart and it raced to make up for the beats it skipped. Blood pounded his brain and it was all he could do not to try to find something to steady him as his mind tried to keep up the urgency that underscored her words. "I need you to keep your eyes on me, okay?"

"What's the matter, Kara? You're going to deny him his chance for revenge?"

Taunting her, baiting him, the skinjob standing behind him did both in two sentences.

"Lee – it's really me." Her expression shifted as he had seen it a hundred times in the past, except this time, he was getting Kara instead of Starbuck. "I need you to focus on me, okay? I need you to walk towards me and look straight ahead."

Shock and disbelief were washed away by a storm surge of carrying every emotion he possessed and made it impossible for him to do anything else. Blood, sweat and something else created a strange sheen that gave her skin a sickly glow in the low light. She looked liked she had been worked over hard; he had seen corpses in better shape. Her hair was matted. She was wearing an oversized shirt and no shoes. Her weapon was drawn and pointed at whatever was behind him.

"That's not going to happen. He's coming with me, Kara."

Her hand might be steady, but it was the tremble in her knee that made his heart thump deep and hard.

"Kara?"

"No. Frakking. Way." The click of the safety being turned off on her gun was easy to hear as she kept her aim and attention focused on who was standing behind him. "Not. Gonna. Happen." Scraping her lower lip with her teeth, she switched from fighting a battle of wills to willing him to do as she said. A hint of a smile played along the hardened line of her jaw, "Hey, Lee."

"You know you aren't being fair, Persephone."

"STARBUCK!" Lee could feel the intensity behind her correction.

Persephone – he – it – the skinjob – called her Persephone. The only one – ever – to have called her that was… Was… Castor!

"To keep him from knowing…"

"Is exactly what's going to happen." She finished Castor's sentence. Aware of her green eyes touching his own, she deepened her timbre and spoke only to him. "Remember our promises to each other, Lee? Remember what I vowed to do?" He nodded. For the second time today, the memory of those stolen moments on D-Deck surfaced. _I, Kara Thrace, standing willingly before the Lords of Kobol, do swear and avow to protect Lee Adama with every skill I possess and every fibre of my being_. "Now I need you to keep your promise, okay?"

Solemn words exchanged by two warriors played out in his eyes as he heard his own voice repeat: _I, Lee Adama, __swear to serve the Fleet, uphold my moral convictions and to never lose sight of what is in front of me._

Reading his face, knowing when he had relived that memory, was when she spoke again. "I'm what's in front of you, Lee. Don't look anywhere else."

He knew she was twisting his words around to suit the situation but he knew why she was doing it. The sick game that had begun when Castor first held the Fleet hostage was still being played. Kara was still what the Cylon wanted, and Castor wasn't above using him to get to her. Not liking the fact that he'd been reduced to a pawn, a consolation prize, the strategist in him humphed at his ego. Turning around would slake his curiosity but it would undermine Kara's position. The few cards she still held in her hand were precious to whatever plan she had cobbled together. Refusing to give into Castor's machination and backing up his wing mate, Lee drew in a stabilizing breath and put one foot in front of the other.

One hand anchored to the handle of her gun, the other she used to reach out and beckon him closer. "That's right, just walk towards me."

The sound of another gun being cocked had him stopping in tracks. He could feel the muzzle pointed at his back even though the one holding the gun stood well behind him. The cold tension radiating off of Kara plunged to a sub-zero temperature.

"The only way he walks out of here is if you come with me instead, Starbuck."

He saw it happen once – Kara giving herself up for what she deemed 'the greater good' – if it happened again, he didn't know if he could come back from it.

"Lee, stay out of this." One hand falling slack at her side, desperation widened her eyes and a look of horror spread across her face as she gave him a warning.

"You have a choice, Kara. Come with me and be what God meant for you to be or he can die by your hand because you were arrogant enough to think that you could save him." Castor cryptically laid out Kara's future. "All that has happened before will happen again, Starbuck. But this time, your heresy will cost you. Not only will you continue to be God's Instrument, but I will share you with Leoben as well. Between the three of us, Simon, Leoben and me, your sessions with Three will be a fond memory."

Castor's cruelty hit Kara square in the chest and knocked her left hand behind her back. Whatever images the bastard had conjured caused tremors to shake every inch of her body. For the first time, Lee saw her visibly flinch. Watching her swallow, her expression was plaintive and distant as she came to some sort of decision. Defeat – real, honest, defeat clouded her eyes and she broke their eye contact as her head tilted towards the deck underneath their feet and her right hand lowered to her side.

He could feel the fingers of triumph reaching out from Castor and clutching at his upper arms when the fight drained out of Kara. "Lee – I'm sorry."

A blur of movement had his attention focused on Kara's right hand. The gun that had been cradled loosely in her palm was pressed flush against her right temple and her right index finger was tightening incrementally on the trigger.

Tears of anger and frustration pooled along her lower eyelids and her chin trembled with rage. Experience had taught him that a Kara that was backed into a corner was a danger to herself and to others. "I have told you once and I have told you twice,-"

"Kara! Don't!" Interrupting her, Lee tried to mentally knock the gun from her hand.

"You move and you're dead, Lee." Castor's reminder that he could be shot at any second kept Lee from charging forward. Words meant for Kara streaked past his ears. "Stop! You can't do this!"

"The only way you'll get Lee Adama," her finger unfurled, flexed and pulled back again. "Is over my dead body, you frakker."

Throwing himself to the deck, thinking that she would need him out of the way and a clear shot at Castor, he instinctively covered his head when her gun went off. Unfolding his arms and looking up from his position on the floor, she was still standing – but barely. Horror and a sense of wrongness contorted his face. Her arm was falling limply away from her head instead of being stretched forward, parallel to the floor.

Sparing him a pained look of acceptance, her body pitched backwards and thumped when it hit the deck.

"Oh, Gods – Kara! – No!" Surging to he his feet, he ran forward. If Castor wanted to shoot him, let him.

Coming up on her left side and dropping to his knees, he didn't know what to do first. Shifting, trying to find a place to start, something hard dug into that soft spot where his lower leg merged with his knee. Slipping a hand underneath her shoulder, he reached his hand for whatever it was only to pull his arm back sharply. Looking at his palm, he could see the red mark of a burn show up against his skin. Two sweeping motions from his knee had him glancing down and his eyes widening. Whipping his head back to where he was cradling Kara, he pulled her closer to his body. Her skin was cold and clammy and up close, the damage – for lack of a better word – to her body was much worse then he thought. A blue tinge was starting to tinge her cheeks and what he could see at the opening of her shirt.

Hand trembling, he stroked her forehead and tucked some of her matted hair behind her ear. Roaming the back of her head and pulling an unsteady hand free, he had to force himself to look.

There wasn't any blood!

Looking back down at his side, near her left hip, was a second gun. That was what she fired! A long-ago medical log entry made on world that was destroyed by Cylons was richly ironic; it was her ambidextrous hand that brought down the most dangerous Cylon he had ever encountered.

Craning his neck, he looked behind him for the first time. Face obliterated, a man's body laid crumpled in a position only death could make comfortable. Reflexively tightening his fingers around her shoulder, he angled her to his chest and rested his cheek on the top of her head. She did it. For the second time, she did it – she sacrificed herself. But this time, it was for him.

An inkling of hope had him pressing two fingers against her throat. Forcing himself to calm, he could feel it – weak and erratic – but there nonetheless: Kara heart was still beating.

Separating the buckles of his vest, he shrugged out of it. One-handed, he slipped free the buttons of his jacket and rolled his shoulders until the fabric pooled around his elbows. Carefully, he manoeuvred Kara and propped her up. Shaking out his jacket, needing to keep her warm, he looked down to see how best to spread it over her when something caught his eye. Plucking out what was making a bulge in the pocket of Kara's shirt was slipped into his ears. After tucking the material of his jacket around her, he triggered the audio transmitter.

"Helo – SitRep!"

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The purr of the Raptor flying at low altitude vibrated in his ears as he put a steadying hand on Racetrack's shoulders. If he thought that the twenty minutes it took to get her moon-side from Galactica's hanger bay was the longest twenty minutes of his life, he hadn't counted on how the ten minutes it would take to go from the mining camp to the crashed BaseStar would make him feel.

Polished metal glinting in the sunshine was the beacon they were looking for. There it was – right where Apollo said it was going to be.

Clapping his hands against her flight suit to get her attention, he pointed to where a jettisoned escape pod carved out a jagged landing strip in the orange terrain.

The retro-thrusters on the Raptor fired and he looked back at Cally. She had a fully stocked med-kit in her lap and her eyes were wide and shining.

"You gonna be able to do this?" He needed to know. He trusted Cally, and he knew that she did too. That was why she was with him.

Her tousled head nodded.

Touching down, the hatch opened.

"Okay – we're on." Turning back to Racetrack, he was about to give her instructions when she help up a hand to stop him.

"There's no way this baby's powering down."

Striding out of the cargo area, backboard tucked underneath his arm and Cally following close behind, they both sprinted for the escape pod.

Still in motion, Helo handed the board off to Cally and reached out, wrenching the access door open with brute force. Stepping aside, he waved Cally ahead as she pressed the med-kit into his stomach – he was too big to fit inside the cabin – and let the board fall flat on the ground.

Scrubbing his face with his hands, he waited.

"Pass me the backboard." Cally's voice carried out to where he was standing.

Feeding it through the door way and watching it disappear, he was delegated to waiting again.

The sounds of lifting and the grunting of exertion got caught up in the breeze that swirled around him.

Stepping up and holding the door open as far as it would go, Cally's hunched backside was mincing its way out of the escape pod. Craning her neck so that she could see where she was going, she cleared the cabin and stepped down onto the ground. Seeing her arms straining, he switched places with her. A pair of dirty feet, anchored by a safety strap, met the morning sun. Letting Apollo set their pace, smell of abuse grew as more of Kara was carried out of the pod.

Pausing once Apollo was out in the open, he nodded to the other man. "Nice going, using the escape pod." Tipping up the ends of his mouth, he quipped, "Your landing could have been better, though."

"Yeah –well – you know how it is." The seriousness of whatever Apollo had just gone through was etched into every muscle in his body. Glancing down at Starbuck, he softened his eyes. "She's the one that can fly anything."

Carrying Kara between them, they saved their breaths for the return sprint back to the Raptor. Between the three of them, they loaded Kara up and secured the hatch. Looking back from the pilot's chair, Racetrack waited for them to get buckled in before she fired her thrusters and prepared to cut a path through the sky.

Freeing medical equipment from where it was mounted on the wall, Cally slipped an oxygen metre onto Kara's finger. Popping open the med-kit, Apollo reached for gauze pads and the sterile cleansing solution. Relocating Lee's jacket to her waist and covering her as much as possible, Karl undid the top few buttons on her shirt and held out his hand expectantly. On cue, Cally turned on the heart monitor, exposed the adhesive and put the sensors in the palm of his hand.

Focused on what he was doing, it was Cally's hand on his arm that stopped him putting the sensors in place.

"She's coming around."

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She was being jostled again. Someone was trying to wake her up. It wasn't the Gods – They knew she already did everything she was supposed to do. Zak was dead, and this time it was by her own hand. She shot him in the face and blew out his silica pathways. Lee was safe. He could find his own way off of that frakking BaseStar and the Old Man would be fine once Lee got back to Galactica.

A bright light – brighter than she was used too – tried to break through her eyelids. But she was so comfortable where she was, lying snug in her childhood bed. For the first time, her old room was dark and soothing and peaceful.

The nudging now had a voice to go with it. It was her father – he was trying to wake her up. Tilting her head towards the sound of his voice, he was sitting at the end of her bed and he was calling out to her softly. Concentrating on what he was saying, she had to agree – there was one more thing she had to do.

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"She's trying to say something." Cally clarified.

Looking down at her friend, she saw Kara's mouth open but heard nothing but strangled air come out. Insight had her snatching a gauze pad from Lee. Not wanting her to regurgitate, she soaked it with water from a nearby canteen and she traced Kara's lips. Squeezing the remaining water into her mouth, she watched the pilot swallow and waited to see if she could keep it down. Starbuck's eyes cracked open a little before rolling back into her head. Not sure if Starbuck even knew where she was, she gave the other woman a reassuring smile.

"Kara – can you hear me? Kara – talk to me!" Apollo was kneeling by her head and his hand was still holding the bottle of cleanser.

Her face tilted towards his voice and her eyes opened a little bit more. "Lee?"

"Yeah, Kara – it's me." The struggle to put a smile in his voice was apparent. "Welcome back."

"Undo me." She wriggled against the safety straps. "Get these things off of me."

Speaking so roughly, like her voice had been all used up, Cally felt tears spring to her eyes as that thought – that there was nothing left of Starbuck, Kara and Lieutenant Thrace, that they had been all used up – was the best way to describe the battered woman strapped to the backboard. Looking to Helo, wanting to tap into his strength to bolster her own emotional state, she saw that he didn't have it to spare. Dealing with the visual reminder that Starbuck had to save herself – again – was sending him into his own tailspin.

"She needs to be free, Apollo." All but sniffling, Helo squeezed the release clasp that secured her legs and hips. Doing the same with the one that spanned her chest, he and Apollo leaned in closer to hear what she was going to say next.

"Get me up." It sounded like the last thing she wanted to do, but the steel in her faint words couldn't be missed.

Each taking an arm, they slowly stood, bringing Kara to her unsteady feet. Darting her arm out, Cally snatched up Apollo's jacket and draped it across her lap when it tumbled to the deck.

Cally couldn't stop the tears that flowed down her face when she watched three different women become one full person and take on the ethereal aura of a Goddess. Nor could she stop herself from throwing up in her mouth when the bloody criss-cross markings, layered one on top of another, glued Lieutenant Thrace's shirt to her ravaged back and spread their way down the back of Starbuck's thighs. She knew Apollo and Helo could see it too because she could feel the rage that was emanating off of the two men as they saw the cruelty that had been heaped upon their best friend.

Step-staggering forward, she saw Racetrack jerk in surprise when Kara put her hand on the woman's shoulder and motioned her to move over. Slipping into Racetrack's seat, her fingers curled around the control stick and changed their course.

Getting up from where she was sitting, she held Helo and Apollo back with a discreet shake of her head. Call it Women's Intuition, answering the needs of a Goddess or something else all together, whatever Kara was going to do, it was something she had to do and none of them had a right to interfere, even when the blond woman reached for a headset, secured it to her head and said something she couldn't hear to Racetrack.

"Galactica, this is Raptor Two-One-Five. Can you get a fix on an ejection-seat transponder previously coded to Starbuck's Viper?" Racetrack spoke into the comm system.

"That's affirmative, Two-One-Five." Captain Kelly's voice came over the speakers.

Seeing Kara feed Racetrack another line from her position in the cargo area, she heard Racetrack state clearly, "Roger that Galactica; requesting orbital bombardment of enemy vessel."

"Understood; Raptor Two-One-Five, standby while we obtain clearance."

"Standing-by, Galactica."

It was a long moment before Galactica hailed them.

"Raptor Two-One-Five – Galactica Actual; do you have both of them?"

"Yes, Sir – we do."

"Galactica will fire on your mark. Let's erase these bastards." Adama's gruff voice was thick and deep.

Tripping a series of switches, Kara armed the missiles stored in the Raptor's launch tubes.

Verifying the readout, Racetrack gave Galactica the signal, "Mark."

A bombardment missile was beeping its way across the radar screen at the ECO's station. Cally never saw Kara's finger press the 'fire' button, but she did see the burn of two missiles streak from the underbelly of the Raptor, fly along the same trajectory and take up flanking positions on either side of the ordinance that had been fired from Galactica.

Three missiles – a significant number on as many levels as there were people around her, including herself – slammed simultaneously into the downed BaseStar and exploded upon impact. Shockwaves of near-nuclear proportions buffeted the small ship but didn't bring them down. Bending the stick in the direction she wanted them to go, Starbuck smoothly arched them away from the conflagration.

Still in the atmosphere of the moon, Cally watched her stand and give the control of the ship back to Racetrack. She let her unchecked tears become full-out crying as Kara murmured, "I kept my promises."

Moving faster than she thought he could, Lee caught her before she could hit the deck as tears of his own reddened his eyes.

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Her father was there, waiting for her, just like he said he would.

Only this time, when he gathered her up into his arms, he didn't have to pick her up. She was a woman who had done a warrior's job.

Letting him support her, she looked up into his face. The smile she was going to give him faltered. She knew what he was going to say – that she didn't have to do anything she didn't want to do – but she answered him anyway.

"No – that's where you're wrong. I did have to do things I didn't want to do." Real tears, the ones that came from twenty years of having to do what she had to do to just to survive, slipped down her cheeks.

"Even now, I'm not going to be given a choice." Resting her wet cheeks in the crook of his shoulder, she shook her head ruefully. "The Gods are calling me home."


	21. Chapter 21:Chapter 20: What it Means

Another Way Chapter 20

**Author's Note:** This chapter picks up, literally, just as the last chapter ended... Think of it as the last episode of a four-hour mini series...

**Author's Note Two:** This was to be the last chapter before the epilogue, but its not going to be... There will be ONE more chapter after this one, then, maybe, an epilogue. Sorry for that! wink wink PLEASE!! Let me know what you think or if there were/are any threads I have left hanging!

Another Way Chapter 20

What a Promise Means

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He caught her before she could hit the floor of the Raptor.

Snapping up his head, Lee craned his neck to Racetrack. "Punch it; full burn all the way back to Galactica."

Hugging Kara closer to his body, he half dragged-half carried her deeper into the hold. He didn't apologize for the ferociously protective scowl he shot at Cally when she manoeuvred herself around them to help shift Starbuck's dead weight onto the backboard. He softened his look when he realized that the younger woman had no intentions of taking Kara away from him; she was just as committed to saving Starbuck. Vaguely, he was aware of the deckhand slipping the oxygen metre back onto Kara's finger and scooping the forgotten heart-monitoring sensors up off the floor. Strapping Kara down securely, Karl was right when he said that. 'Kara needs to be free'. But as far as he was concerned, it was the only way he had to show her that there was no way in Hades that she was going frakking anywhere.

Helo's voice cut through his emotional haze. "Galactica, this is Raptor Two-One-Five. We are declaring a medical emergency. We have an officer down; wave off all other incoming traffic. We need a full trauma team and Major Cottle to meet us when we land."

"Affirmative Raptor Two-One-Five – we read your medical emergency. Please be advised that Major Cottle is currently attending to a pre-natal situation and will not be able to meet you on the hanger deck."

Leaving the strap that was meant to secure her chest undone so that Cally could apply the sensors to her chest, he pressed a separate set of discs onto each of her temples. Whispering harshly into her ear, he told her exactly what he was thinking. "You aren't frakking going anywhere, Kara. Do you hear me? You are going to ride with us back to The Bucket, you're gonna be the talk of the ship, you're gonna be a royal pain in the ass to Cottle and his people and then you're gonna frakking kick everyone's ass in Triad all the way to Earth. You got that, Starbuck?"

The erratic beeping he was expecting to hear wasn't happening. Shooting an accusatory look at machinery, he looked at Cally, who had long since finished putting the sensors to Kara's skin. "Is it broken?"

"No." Her chin trembled as she fought to keep her thoughts together. "It's working fine. It's Starbuck…"

Lee could tell she couldn't say it but he wasn't about to let Cally fall apart either. "Cally – charge it up!"

The tell-tale whine of the machine charging filled the cargo area. Looking down at the amount to of stored voltage, Cally put away her tears. "It's charged, Sir."

"Clear!" Apollo nearly shouted as he watched Kara's body buck with the influx of electrical current.

"No good, still not picking up a heartbeat Sir."

"Again!" Lee ordered.

The defibrillator firing was absorbed by the Raptor breaking the sound barrier. Racetrack pushing the craft to its limit sent ever-increasing reverberations travelling all along the hull of the ship.

Lee felt, rather than saw, Helo swivel in the ECO chair. "Do it again, Cally!"

Pushing the button one more time, Lee felt his own body wanting twist with sympathy pains as Starbuck's body lurched up off the backboard as much as her restraints would allow. Faint beeps from the heart monitor were nearly drowned out by the harsh cough that rumbled up from her chest. Blearily, her eyes opened and focused on him. Unable to help himself, he ran his hand over her cold head.

Whatever he wanted to say, he swallowed as Helo's large hand rested on his shoulder. She was looking at Karl as well when her mouth opened and she found the strength to move her lips.

"Don't worry – I'll never forget you."

Air he had fought so hard for her to draw whooshed out of her chest. The heart monitor suddenly went quiet. He was helpless to stop her ankles from rolling slackly to the side or her eyes from closing.

"Give me a dose of adrenaline – now!" Lee ordered, spreading open Kara's shirt. He held out his hand as he searched for the best place to plunge the needle into her heart.

"I can't – there isn't any." Cally had a steady stream of tears flowing down her face as she rifled through the med-kit. "Where is it? It's supposed to be here!"

Hands descending onto Kara's chest, Lee only heard Helo because Agathon was sitting behind him.

"Helo to Galactica Actual – I'm breaking medical emergency protocol. We need a gurney, two of the biggest guys you have available and every inch of decking between the hanger bay and Life Station cleared. ETA is four minutes. We're coming in at full throttle."

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"Acknowledged, Raptor Two-One-Five; Cottle is waiting for you in Life Station. LSO has been apprised and the board is clear. May the Gods be at your sides." Dee's voice transmitted out to the incoming Raptor at the same time it was fed into the speakers suspended over the Planning Table.

Still in Ops Planning, Tigh and Adama exchanged the kind of soul-weary looks that only true friends could share and understand.

Starbuck was dead. Sharon had brought back her ring and when Racetrack confirmed that she had both Lee and Kara, she didn't quantify who was alive and who was dead – she didn't need too. Of the five bodies on that Raptor, it was Helo's voice that came over the speakers; Racetrack was still flying the ship and the clarification that it was an officer that was down meant that it wasn't Cally who was in trouble. That left only one person: Lee.

"Make it happen. Get my son to Cottle, Saul."

Tigh nodded his head and didn't bother with an exit salute before he headed to the door.

There wasn't time.

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The moment that the trap sealed above them was when Helo looked at Cally. "Trigger the hatch."

The fourteen seconds it took for the hatch to open no where near matched the amount of time it took to be lowered to the Hanger Deck, the lift to link up with the front of the Raptor and taxi the ship forward. They were losing precious time.

The lift hadn't even stopped when Helo bellowed from where he was crouched over Kara inside the cargo hold. "WE NEED SOME HELP IN HERE!"

The Raptor physically dipped as three sets of feet landed on the skid boards. Three large bodies – Gunny, Captain Kelly and Jammer – loomed in the open hatchway. If she had the time to think about the fact that representatives from each of the three different areas Kara 'worked' were who responded, she would have put it in the same category of 'coincidence' as the three missiles that destroyed the BaseStar on the moon.

Looking at who he had to work with, he divvied up the load. "Jammer – you're with me; Kelly and Gunny – you take that end. Cally – you go out first and make sure nothing and no one is in our way."

Wiping her cheeks with her sleeve, her eyes were hard with determination, "Got it." Looking at the new comers, she gave them an order of her own as she skirted past the men. "I don't care of there is a frakking Cylon attack._ You. Don't. Stop_."

"On the count of 'three' guys, we go." Helo's words snapped them out of the stupor they had collectively slipped into when they saw who they were going to be transporting. 'Three!"

Walking backwards, Gunny and Kelly set the pace. The first to step down, Cally cleared the way with her voice as her fingers curled around the guard-rail of the waiting gurney. Swivelling it into position with uncanny precision, she held it steady as the four men set the backboard – complete with Apollo perched on Starbuck's chest pumping away at her heart with his hands – onto the gurney. Making quick work of the safety straps, the four men who took up flanking positions along the bedside looked like pallbearers to her mind's eye. Setting off at a dead run, the squeaking wheels of the gurney told her that Jammer, Kelly, Gunny and Helo were keeping up with her.

Making like a Pyramid offensive forward, Cally led them down the pre-secured corridors like they were the opposing team's end-zones. She barely glanced at the shipmates who had gathered at intersections, hoping to get a peek at what had set the ship a-buzz. Instead, she scanned the corridors for anything that could impede their way to Life Station. Squinting her eyes at a sudden movement up ahead, a hatchway was swinging open and a Specialist was emerging. No sooner had he put a foot into the hallway was when she, without a second thought and while she was very much in motion, pushed him backwards and sent him careening back the way he came.

Rounding the next corner, she called out, "Stairs!"

Taking them two at a time, she visually swept the corridor as the four men groaned with the exertion it took to lift the gurney high enough to clear the steps and keep their momentum. Turning back to them, her ponytail holder slipped free as she whipped her head around and gave them a status report. "Clear!"

Her feet ate up the decking as her lungs burned in her chest.

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The double doors of Life Station never looked so good.

Bursting through, she saw Cottle snapping on a fresh pair of gloves. "They're right behind me!"

On cue, four men pushed a gurney into Life Station at top speed. Apollo had his back to everyone and Cally could tell by the way his back and shoulders were bunching and releasing that he was still making Starbuck's heart pump.

"Talk to me, Cally – tell me what I'm looking at." Focused so intently on Lee, Cally jumped at the sound of Cottle's gruff voice as he caught her off-guard.

"I don't know. One minute she was alive, flying the Raptor… the next minute she was gone. Then, we shocked her. She came too long enough to say something to Apollo and Helo and then she was gone again. I – we – tried to bring her back – but it was no use." Pushing her bangs off of her hot forehead, she looked at Ishnay trying to get Apollo off of Starbuck rather than at the doctor who was speaking to her. "We kept shocking her until the battery ran out. That's when Apollo started compressions and Helo took up rescue breathing."

Ishnay wasn't getting anywhere with Apollo and he didn't get it that his part was done. Two seconds from stepping forward and hoping Apollo would listen to her was when Helo came up to Lee. The taller man grabbed one of the Captain's arms, startling him. By the looks of things, Apollo didn't even realize that they had gotten her to sickbay. A brief nod and a smooth dismount had Apollo's feet firmly on the decking. It was a fast-acting Helo that kept the younger man on his feet as he swayed and struggled to keep his balance.

Ishnay sealed a breathing-bag over Kara's face and mouth and started to squeeze the bag rhythmically as another medic picked up where Apollo left off and re-commenced with the manual heart compressions.

"Who is it, Cally?"

"Stop her!" Free of Apollo's bulk, Ishnay called for someone to cut off Kara's clothes. The glinting of scissors in the bright lights had Cally jerking her head at Cottle. "Starbuck's not wearing anything underneath that; she's naked. If you have to do that, get a blanket for frak's sake!"

If there was anything that could unbalance the unflappable Cottle, it was Cally's disclosure about who it was that had been wheeled into his domain.

"Doctor Cottle!" Getting a good look at her patient for the first time, Ishnay's normally pale complexion blanched even whiter, "It's Kara Thrace!"

"I'll be frakked." Stepping up to the gurney, he looked at shocked Gunny. "Get a frakking blanket." Glancing over at Apollo he barked, "What happened to her?"

Gulping air and feeling his uniform slide along the layer of sweat that separated him from his clothes, the glib answer of, _well, gee, Doc, you mean beyond the fact that she's been a prisoner of war for nearly seven weeks?_, danced across his tongue. But, that wouldn't help Kara. Instead, he shook his head. "I don't know exactly. But if I had to guess, I'd say she's been worked over pretty well. By the sounds of things, she has a broken rib or two on her left side."

Taking the blanket from Gunny and draping it over Starbuck – from the waist down – another medic locked his grimly concerned eyes with Cottle's. "There are puncture wounds all over her, Sir."

Lifting up a limp hand, he scrutinized her arm and what caused the back of her hand to be so bloody. He didn't like what he saw.

"There are needle tracts everywhere and her hand's been ripped open something ugly." Letting it fall, he scanned the expanse of skin exposed by her opened shirt. Waving a hand at Ishnay he said, "Get her into the operating room and tell the rest of the staff that I'll be right there. I want a full tox-screen done immediately. And for frak's sake – don't stop what you're doing!"

Giving Thrace's form one more 'once over' as she was pushed by him, he frowned in concentration. A first-year med-tech could see that there was a lot of bruising, swelling and that the foul stench wafting off of her skin was going to be a complication. Frak; what were going to be the asps in his bath were the puncture marks that the medic already noted.

Turning to one of three the people who knew more than he did about his latest patient's condition, he fired off three questions at Captain Adama. "How long has she been without oxygen and how long has it been since her heart stopped? And, what do you mean 'she's been worked over'?"

"She hasn't stopped breathing nor has her heart stopped. We've been doing that for her for the past nine minutes." Latent anger tainted his words as Lee filled in the gaps for Cottle. "As for her being beaten – it's all up and down the backside of her. You'll see it when you turn her over. It looks like she's been whipped." His voice cracked, "Among other things."

Kelly, all but forgotten in the immediacy to treat Starbuck, started to dry-heave. Turning his back and bending at the waist, the sound of retching put a disgusted look on Cottle's face. Never one to spare sympathy for those with weak stomachs, he snapped, 'Get that man out of here and clean that up!" That dealt with, he looked back at the young captain. "First thing's first; we gotta get her breathing and her heart working. Then we tackle the rest."

Pivoting on his heels, Cottle stopped long enough to shrug into a set of surgical scrubs. Without a parting glance, he disappeared into the operating room.

Suddenly, none of them had anything to do.

Kara was in Cottle's and the Gods' hands. She was home. The Cylon ship had been destroyed. The threat that Castor had posed had been eliminated. The Fleet was safe – as much as it ever was – for now.

The group of Jammer, Cally, Helo, Apollo, and Gunny looked anywhere but at each other.

It was the re-appearing Ishnay who broke the quiet.

"Captain Adama – will you come with me? I need to examine you. Dr. Cottle noticed that your pupils were a little off and that there's a trail of dried blood behind one of your ears. Not to mention that there's the matter of a contusion on your jaw."

She was right. Lee was swaying on his feet – he could feel himself listing to one side. Without the constant supply of adrenaline, his body reverted to its concussed state. Nodding wearily, he let Ishnay lead him away.

As soon as Apollo was out of sight, the trauma of the day washed over Cally. It was so much, so fast and too personal. Turning slowly towards Helo, she watched as he spread his arms and let her fall into his embrace. Great wracking sobs that not even his strong arms could suppress rattled every inch of her. Her tears flowed down his borrowed Marine garb. Jammer's consoling hand on her shoulder was matched by the mournful look on Gunny's face. She felt her hair dampen with the few drops of moisture that leaked from Karl's eyes and the way he stroked her back only made her heartache that much more acute.

It was Gunny who saw him first. The way her watery vision saw him bring a trembling hand to his temple in a weak salute told her some ranking officer had just walked into Life Station. Not to mention how Jammer took his hand away like he had been scalded. The way Helo stiffened, but still held onto her, told her it was Commander Adama.

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It was a scene he prayed he would never have to live through again – coming into a hospital setting to claim the body of a dead child. But this was war, not a flight accident. Lee had been down on that moon, inside that BaseStar, on his orders. A little bit of what Kara must have been feeling for all those years crept into his mind; Zak had been in a cockpit because she had cleared him to be in one. Not the same thing, but the guilt was similar enough to singe a corner of his heart.

Cally sobbing into Helo's chest, Gunny's devastated expression and Jammer's lost look was enough to tell him that he had gotten to Life Station too late to say good-bye to Lee.

Corralling his emotions enough to keep his composure, he looked to Helo who simply jutted his head in the direction of somewhere behind and to the left of where they were standing.

Walking by, he briefly touched Cally and saw that she barely registered where she was, let alone that he was there. Leaving them behind, he continued forward and watched Ishnay come out of a curtained-walled room. Not trusting himself to say Lee's name, he stopped her with a look. "Where is he?"

A distracted, distant look to her eyes had her pointing to where she had just come out of before she moved on and approached the operating room. There was something comforting about watching her pull on a set of plastic surgical scrubs. Also, it was an easy way to stall and buy him some time that Lee no longer had.

Drawing a deep breath, he fisted the fabric of the curtain and held on to it as he prepared himself. Shackling the memories of claiming Zak's body, he knew there was no way to prepare for the crushing blow that would come with claiming Lee's body. He just had to do it.

Noiselessly, he parted the panels and stepped inside.

There, lying on a bed, covered from head-to-toe with a blanket, was Lee. He would know his son's outline anywhere – it was a parent's gift. Still holding the same breath, he lifted up the cold blanket and peeled it down, revealing Lee's pale face. Tears welled up and his craggy cheeks hollowed as he tried to breathe in more air than his body could hold. Lee looked like a little boy. His hair was mussed; dirt and grime creased his face. Orange dust from that moon stood out against the backdrop of his uniform. His skin was clammy and chill to the touch but, in reaching for his son's hand, he found the palms to be still warm. He had gotten there just that much too late.

Bringing his other hand to his eyes, he pressed his fingers against his lids. How was he supposed to bury both of his children, knowing he was responsible for both their deaths?

Adama jerked his hand away when Lee's fingers curled reflexively. The macabre thoughts flew out of his mind as he watched his son stir in the hospital bed.

Lee was alive!

"Ishnay – I told you – the lights – they're too bright," Lee complained weakly through closed eyes.

"I'll talk to Cottle about that when he gets back." Adama smiled down at his CAG, his officer, and son. Relief put a smile on his face that hadn't been seen since before the end of the worlds.

Squinting up at his father, grateful to see an old man's face, Lee quipped, "Do that. That way I won't have to pull a blanket over my face in order to block everything out." Closing his eyes again, his expression became solemn. "Did Cottle tell you?"

"I haven't seen him yet. I came straight to see you." Taking in the sight of his living, breathing, bruised son, Adama asked, "What's the verdict?"

"Mild concussion, barely more than a migraine; it's nothing a little rest and a Raptor full of aspirins won't take care of." Lee groaned at the sound of his own voice. Nodding at a spot on his inner arm had him chortling. "Though, I'll say this. One of Ishnay's shots certainly goes a long way to setting things right."

"That's what sucks about concussions – they make everything hurt, don't they?" Adama empathized, remembering when Leoben clocked him on the head with a hand-held torch at Ragnar Anchorage.

"Then I take it you saw Helo?" Lee made himself open his eyes more but managed to crack them a smidgen more before he got overwhelmed by the brightness of the overhead lighting.

"Last time I saw him, he was consoling Cally." The memory of thinking it was Lee the young Specialist was mourning was too fresh for him to elaborate on what he had walked into when he first got to Life Station.

The events of the day were taking their toll on his son as he saw Lee struggle to stay awake. "We did it, Dad. We brought her home – just like you asked."

"We can talk about that later, Lee." Adama felt his throat constrict. Forcing air to form words, he added, "Get some rest. I'll wake you up every half an hour."

Lee's head lolled to the side as whatever Ishnay had put into his system took effect.

Pulling up a chair, Adama settled down to take care of his son.

xxx……….bsg……….xxx

It wasn't like last time.

She wasn't alone.

She was still with her father, she was still lying in her childhood bed in her childhood room – before her world irrevocably changed and before bad memories had begun to outweigh her better memories.

Her father had just tucked her in and, being the ever-restless Kara, she had to pull her arms out and trace abstract shapes with her fingernails on the tops of her covers. He was holding something and looking down at her with paternal patience shining in his eyes.

"What are you thinking, Kara?"

Snuggling down further into her covers and pillows and stilling her hand, she answered honestly. "I'm thinking that eternity's not going to be so bad knowing that I can think about Lee – and everyone else – forever and ever."

A soothing hand tucked a lock of hair behind her ear didn't hide the frown that pulled at the corners of her father's face.

"What? What's that look mean?"

He held out the vial in his hand for her to see clearly. "Do you know what this is, Kara?"

She shook her head.

"It's water from the River Styx. Do you know what that does?"

"It will make me forget." She still remembered what she learned as a girl, when she went to Temple and sat in on classes that the priestesses held. Scowling and toying with her sheet and blankets, she made it clear that she didn't like what her father was saying. "I don't want to forget. Can't I go _without_ drinking that stuff?"

"No, you can't. The Gods have their reasons and this one is as good as any of them – especially for you. Forgetting your mortal life is a blessing from the Gods. As Chiron ferries you across the river, your life will melt away until it is gone altogether. You will step onto the Elysian Fields as the warrior you are and the woman that inherently resides within you, without being hobbled by the experiences that come with a lifetime of memories that bind a mortal soul. No pain, regret, fear or trepidation – nothing but peace, love and happiness. Don't look like that – it's not another version of Tartarus." He laughed at the face she pulled. "It's perfection. You will commune with the Gods and They, in turn, will seek you out. If They summon you, then you will have enough memories returned to you so that you can do what they want you to do."

"Like you, being with me, right now?"

"Yes, Kara. The Gods sent me to you because they knew you needed me. The same would hold true for you."

"So, that means I won't see you again?" That wasn't what she pictured eternity would be like.

"You will if the Gods deem it, Kara." His faith was absolute. The peace that radiated off of him was something she wanted for herself.

Holding out her hand, the smoothness of the vial made it roll effortlessly across her palm. Twirling the clear bottle, like she was expecting to read some sort of 'fine print' etched into the polished surface, she was still sceptical. "All I have to do is drink this and then I can go?"

"Yes." A reassuring look passed over his face which he shared readily with his daughter. "But remember Starbuck – you don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

bsg……….xxx……….bsg

Hours had passed, marked only by rousing Lee at regular intervals. The hard chair he had been sitting in was making his muscles cramp. His back wasn't as young as it used to be.

Stretching and feeling his bones creak, he took one last look at Lee before going to look for Cottle. He wanted to know why so much time had passed without the Major, or Ishnay, coming back to check up on his son.

Emerging from Lee's room and identifying a lot of the bodies on motion, he didn't see Cottle, Ishnay, Jammer or Gunny. Personnel injured on the mood were still being tended too and there was a lot for Cottle's staff to do. He did see Helo and Cally. They were sitting side-by-side just outside the operating room. Aiming for them, he could see that the ECO and Specialist were each too caught up in their own thoughts to see him approach. Cups of water, long abandoned, rested on the floor at their feet. Their loyalty to Lee was touching.

"He's going to be okay." Two sets of eyes touched his face. "He's got a mild concussion, but nothing serious. Why don't you both go and get some rest?"

Cally's eyes widened in shock and Helo looked completely taken back. It was as if he had asked then to go for a space walk sans a space suit. Mentally shaking his head, he cleared his throat. "Have either one of you seen Cottle?"

Helo waved in the direction of the operating room. "He's still with Starbuck." Cally's nodding confirmed what Helo said.

"Starbuck's in there?" He didn't understand. As happy as he was to know that his daughter had been brought home, where she belongs, the same question buzzed in his ears repeatedly. Why would Cottle have a dead body in an operating room? Speculations that Cottle was harvesting her organs or that the doctor needed something from her body to help heal someone else chilled his own blood.

"Yeah – ever since we brought her in he's been with her." Cally muttered tiredly; frustration played out on her tear-stained face. "I wish he'd frakking tell us something – anything! It's been forever since they took her in there."

The thought that Cally was in some sort of post-traumatic shock frame-of-mind softened his features. Being as gentle as he knew how, he spoke quietly. "Cally, dead is dead. There's nothing they can do to bring her back."

"She's dead? How do you know? How's it that Cottle told you that she's dead and not us?" Cally's head turned in one direction and then another, looking at Helo and himself repetitively. "I swear – I've been sitting here for hours and I NEVER saw Cottle or Ishnay come out of those doors!"

"Cally – he hasn't seen Cottle. Remember?" Placing his hand on her arm, Adama watched as Helo calmed Cally down. "He was just looking for him." Realization that he didn't understand sparked in Agathon's eyes. "Cally – he doesn't know!"

"Know? Know what, Lieutenant?" He knew everything that happened on Galactica. Evidently, when it came to these two, Apollo and Starbuck, he was missing a few details.

"Sir – it's Starbuck. She's – well, she was before we brought her onboard – alive. Cottle's with her now, trying to keep her with us." Helo said. "Lee's responsible for getting her this far."

"Starbuck's responsible for making it possible for Apollo to get her this far," Cally clarified, levelling a pointed look at Helo.

Adama felt all the blood in his body rush to his feet. A strong hand cupping his elbow prevented anyone from seeing to just how close he was to toppling over.

Except – Agathon wasn't looking at Cally any more. Helo wasn't speaking to his commanding officer any more. Karl's eyes were fixated on 'the someone' who was still standing next to him and was letting go of his elbow.

"Sharon?"

Dressed in a hospital gown, her hair tousled and towing an intravenous drip flowing into her veins from a portable standee, Sharon Valerii added herself to the group. Behind her, 'covering' her, was Gunny.

"Oh Gods – are you okay?" Helo surged to his feet and held her for the first time since they all had returned from Kobol. A protective hand drifted to her lower stomach. "Is the baby alright?"

Returning his embrace, she spoke into his chest. "I will be, and the baby is fine. Cottle got me stabilized in time to prevent any damage and my silica pathways have already begun to repair themselves." Pulling away from his chest but keeping his arms around her, she looked at everyone in turn. "For the record, Starbuck is responsible for a lot of things, the least of which is getting me back here and being the reason why we all are still here."

"What do you mean, Sharon?" Helo asked.

About to pose the very same question he wanted answered, Adama heard the doors to the operating room swing open and close. It was Cottle. Reaching underneath his scrubs and patting himself down, searching for something, the doctor pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and breathed in a long drag. Snagging a metal bed-pan from a nearby cart and slowly exhaling blue smoke, he sighed before making his way over to where they were grouped together.

"Her heart is beating on its own and she's breathing on her own. Don't misunderstand me – she's in bad shape – there's a strong probability that she won't last another fifteen minutes, much less the night. And the worst part is that I can't do anything for her. The toxicology report came back with compounds that I couldn't begin to identify. Every time I reached for a syringe, I had to put it down because I had no idea how it would react to what was already in her system." Cottle's frustration was mirrored by how quickly he was sucking down his cigarette and tipping the ashes into the metal pan he carried. "Hell – I couldn't even operate. That woman has got to have some internal damage and I can't get in there to see what it is or set about trying to fix it."

"What's the plan?" Adama heard his own voice in his own ears but his heart, and his head, hadn't wrapped around the fact that Kara, his girl, was alive – ALIVE! – and lying in a hospital bed mere yards away.

"Nothing for it – for the time being – my hands are tied. All we can do is wait it out. Can't sedate her, can't give her antibiotics, and can't do anything until everything those frakking Cylons pumped into her systems have run their course or Starbuck's body processes them on her own and flushes them out. I took enough of a chance with her life injecting her with adrenaline." A spark of hope lit his eyes as he shifted his gaze to Sharon, "Unless you know something about what they did to her and what they gave her."

Hope died with a shake of Sharon's dark head. "I know _what_ they did to her, but as for what they _gave_ her, I have no idea beyond the fact that it was engineered to aid in the control of her body and her mind."

"Can I see her?" A seventh voice needed to know. It was Lee. His colour was better and he wasn't squinting as much but it was apparent to everyone that he was still a little out of it.

"No you can't see her." Cottle cut him off at the knees. Pre-empting Adama, Cottle stopped him before he could say the words. "And neither can you. Right now, she's passed-out, of her own accord. We went to set her ribs and sure enough, right when we turned her over, that's when I saw what you," he pointed to Lee, "were talking about. Who ever did that to her did it with a song in their heart and a maniacal spring to their step – she's been cut clear to the bone in some places."

"Why can't we see her, Doc?" Adama pressed. By the way Cottle was describing her condition, it seemed like sooner would be better.

"It's the only rest she's getting. If I could, I'd sedate her, or better yet, deliberately put her into a coma so that her body can heal. But that's not an option. So, I'm not about to have you all go traipsing in there and waking her up. She'll be doing that all by herself soon enough and when she does, depending on the level of infection that has set in – because, believe me, it will – her fever will be so high that it'll be all I can do to keep her hydrated and replenish the blood she lost. You wanna help? I'll tell ya what'll help. Pray that she lives through the next thirty minutes." Finishing his cigarette, he gave the bed-pan to a passing orderly. "And then beg the Gods for another hour, on the hour, every hour, after that."

Pointing at Helo, Cottle wagged his finger and made it clear he was talking about Sharon.

"Get her back to bed. She shouldn't even be up or on her feet." Turning to Adama, he added, "The same goes for you. Get your son back into his cubicle. He's gonna stay here for another six hours – for observation – then I'm gonna discharge him. You can come back pick him up then." Looking at Cally, he spoke more softly, "You did good work on that moon this morning – I saw what came in. If you ever decide to leave the deck crew, I've got a spot for you here. Also, I want you to spread the word that no one on my staff is going to allow anyone to get near Starbuck, so don't hassle me with requests to see her. Hell – if I had my way – no one would know she was back. It would make the security detail stationed outside my doors a moot point."

"What security detail?" Gunny asked.

"The one that I'm going to have to order because somebody, somewhere is going to try to get at her," Adama grumbled. "Which I'm going to do as soon as you," he looked deliberately at Lee, "follow the Major's orders."

Raising his voice slightly, Adama informed everyone what to expect. "Debriefing will take place in seven hours in the Conference Room. Everyone who is standing here is expected to be there, providing it doesn't conflict with the doctor's orders." Facing Gunny, he added, "You and your men will be debriefed by Colonel Tigh afterwards."

Doing as Cottle ordered, Helo led Sharon back to her bed. Adama tracked Lee with his eyes as his son ambled back to his cubicle. Cally rose and fell in-step with him as they both walked out of Life Station.

Pushing open the double doors proved Cottle right. A small crowd had started to gather. Jammer and an orderly could be heard trying to keep everyone out of sickbay.

Drawing himself up straighter, Bill slipped his father-face into his back pocket and became one-hundred percent Commander Adama. Making short work of the crowd with a promise of letting anyone who decided to linger have the privilege of hammering out dents in Galactica's hull, he headed to his office. Cally and Jammer split from him when the three of them came up on a junction that included an access corridor that led to the enlisted quarters.

Starbuck – Kara – was alive. That thought made his spine rigid and his expression hard. Knowing that she was onboard and that Cottle was fighting for her life made him feel more helpless than when she first gave herself up all those weeks ago. An external enemy he knew how to fight; an infection, something too small to see was an opponent he couldn't formulate a counter-measure. And whatever those bastards had done to her neutralized his only weapon against such an attack: Cottle.

Nodding, returning the salutes that his guards gave him as one of them pulled open the hatch to his quarters, he stepped through and didn't look behind him when the door clanked shut. There were things he had to do and people he had to call.

Oh Gods – how was he supposed to face her knowing that he had sent Sharon out, with the President's blessing, with explicit orders to kill her? There was no way not to tell her – the entire crew knew – she would find out eventually.

Irrational anger, directed at Roslin, welled up inside him. Picking up the phone and deliberately dialling a number that wasn't associated with Colonial One, he waited for the receiver to be picked up before dropping his 'bomb'.

"Saul – be prepared for some chop. Starbuck's back."

xxx……….bsg……….xxx

Standing, she pulled her arms off from around her father's neck and her shuffling feet gently kicked the empty vial and made it skid across the floor.

Stepping away from her father, Kara lifted her face to his and nodded her head. Behind her, the covers on her bed were rumpled, like she had a bad dream and thrashed in her sleep.

"Bye, Daddy; thank you." This was going to be the last time she saw him for a long time and she wanted to make it count.

Closing her eyes, she was ready when the blackness rushed up and consumed her.

Bsg……….Xxx……….Bsg

Groaning as Ishnay roused him again, he felt like the roof of his mouth had been glued together. Lifting his wrist, he looked down at his chronometer. Barely three hours, and six visits from a very diligent nurse, had passed since Cottle gave them the low-down on Kara condition. Scrubbing his face with his hands to bring some circulation to his skin, Lee sat up. The rest he had been able to get had done him some good. Whatever Ishnay had given him was starting to wear off, but at least everything he looked at wasn't slanting to the right.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed and concocting a story that he 'needed some water', he deftly entered Cottle's access code on the security pad outside the good doctor's office. Slipping inside, there was no one in the small room. Helping himself to Cottle's chair, he started rummaging around his desk. A folded square of paper – with his name on it – caught his eye.

Spreading the corners revealed nearly unreadable handwriting scrawling out a nearly illegible note.

_Captain Adama,_

_Even if you plot, plan, scheme or connive, you still can't see her. _

_If you get within ten feet of her, I will bust you down to mop-jockey. _

_Understand?_

_Get your ass back into bed and stay there._

_Major Cottle._

Frustration had him picking up the nearest pen and chucking it across the room. Raking his scalp with his fingers, he flung himself out of the chair and yanked open the door to Cottle's office, not caring if anyone saw him leave.

Weaving his way through Life Station, he headed towards the back of the unit. Instinct led him to the same area Cottle had isolated his father after Boomer had shot the Old Man.

That's where he found her – in a 'clean room' where the walls were made with thick, heavy plastic and a ventilation pipe cycled purified air in and out of the cubicle. Eyes closed, her head was tilted to the side and she was arranged on her stomach. Ishnay was with her and was putting one of Kara's arms, which had been hanging down lifelessly, back onto her hospital bed. Walking around the 'room', he saw that Cottle had erected a tent around most of Kara's person.

Sterile sheets stretched from the very tops of her shoulders to just above the backs of her knees. It was high enough off her body to allow air to circulate, but close enough to keep anyone from seeing anything as he could tell that she was naked underneath the protective covering. He couldn't stamp down the shudder when he saw two intravenous ports, one carrying blood and the other carrying electrolytes, imbedded into separate veins in her neck. Cords trailing from the activated heart monitor were attached to sensor discs applied to the backs of her knees. Coming up on her other side was where the machines that normally kept someone out of Death's Reach stood silent and unused. Completing his circuit, he squatted down and planted his ass on the cold deck. Gauging the distance, he figured he was safe from Cottle's wrath. He was at least a good ten-and-a-half feet away from her and if need be, he would summon Ishnay to vouch for him as she gave him a smile of encouragement and slipped out of the room, carrying her clipboard with her.

Opening up his mind, he turned his thoughts over to the events of the day, as they were still fresh emblazoned in his memory. Re-creating the timeline he and Helo had fine-tuned over the past seven weeks in his head, he started working his way backwards methodically. Pieces came together and rational leaps of logic filled in a lot of the gaps. Clues such as Castor, Persephone, destiny and the workings of the universe were pulled apart, re-assembled, thrown out and cobbled together. It was a long time, long after his legs fell asleep, when he felt someone looking at him. Glancing up and around him, he expected to see Cottle giving him hell or, at the very least, Helo coming to get him for the debriefing.

It was none of the above.

It was a pair of pain-hazed green eyes, fixed on him, that sent his heart soaring.

It was Kara.

She had come back.

She winked at him – just before her eyes rolled shut and she collapsed into her face-rest.

Flicking his eyes back at the heart-monitoring equipment, he watched as her heart slowed, became slower and all but stopped before it started racing again. Comparing the number of beats to something he could wrap his head around, it matched what he did when he ran full-out around the ship. Except her respirations were those of someone sleeping. Her heart was working overtime as her breathing remained slow and ragged. Cottle wasn't exaggerating when he said that every minute she remained alive was a miracle. And this just one of her medical hurdles; the infection Cottle had promised that would set in hadn't gripped her yet. That was still to come.

She looked at him. She saw him. She knew that he saw her too.

Unfolding his legs, it was a couple of minutes before the feeling returned to his toes. Standing gingerly, he made his way over to the Nurse's Station and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for.

Going back to Kara, he took the cap off of the broad-tipped marker and wrote a message, making sure his letters were legible, backwards and just about at her eye-level so that she could read them without having to lift her head.

Done, he re-capped the marker and hurried away from Kara's room, passing Ishnay in the process.

Coming up on Captain Thrace and seeing that the pilot was still unconscious, chunky black letters caught her eye.

_Gone to debriefing – be back soon. Lee_

Shaking her head, she had to concede that the younger Adama was full of surprises.

For someone who didn't believe in the Gods, he had enough faith in Kara Thrace to build a bridge to Mount Olympus.


	22. Chapter 22:Chapt 21: Blood Rights

Okay -- I completely screwed up with this chapter…. But now, I have completely fixed it.

Uberscribbler and Miss Martha – you were so right – I completely missed Lee's reaction. I thought I didn't need a debriefing scene, but now that it was pointed out to me, everything is just falling into place more neatly.

AS ALWAYS!!! THANK YOU SO SO SO SO MUCH for following this story, reading chapters here and there, or just glancing at it as you surf to other authors/stories…

Please, also – keep your eyes peeled for the epilogue! I promise not to take more than a week to get it out….

YOU ALL ROCK SO MUCH!

Maevenly…..

**Another Way Chapter 21**

**Blood Rites**

Adama had learned long ago that even conference rooms could spontaneously sprout ears. A Commander's personal quarters tended to be a little more sound proof. What was going to be shared by the five people called to report to his office for a 'debriefing' was something he didn't want to hear being played as background noise when he next visited the waste-treatment ship.

Sitting behind his desk he could see Helo and Sharon – the Cylon's hands were bound but she wasn't hobbled – sharing the small couch. On the ottoman, Cally found a place to park herself. The remaining chair, adjacent to his desk, had been saved for Lee. His son had yet to arrive and was the only other person he was expecting. His debriefing with Starbuck was looming on the horizon as much as it was still up in the air. Given Cottle's dubious prognosis, it might not happen at all. But if – _when_ – it did, it was going to be the one conference he didn't want to pan out to his CAG or XO. Nope. Starbuck's story was going to be his to hear. He owed her that much.

For himself, there was no denying that he was still reeling from the news that Starbuck – she was always Starbuck to him – was alive, for the moment, and in Life Station. The former combat pilot and protective father in him wanted to commandeer a Viper and make it his life's mission to annihilate every Cylon in the known – and unknown – universe. His moral imperative collided with his baser morals. As it was, as he looked at Sharon and her slightly rounded belly where the first-ever hybrid child grew, if it weren't for that particular Cylon, Starbuck would never've made it off that BaseStar. It was a dilemma that had no real answer, because no matter which path he chose to follow, each was plagued with shadows and fog.

It was an odd kind of quiet. Not anxious or nervous, just odd. Helo was toying with Sharon's hands, obviously glad to see her, but neither was saying anything to each other. As for Cally, her eyes were focused on the wall but he doubted whether or not she was actually seeing the bookshelves and side tables that fell within her line of sight.

The sound of the hatch opening had all eyes flicking towards the door. Peering at his doorway, he saw Lee returning the salute his MP's respectfully offered. Only when the door was pulled shut and the sound of the lock tumblers falling into place faded away did Lee take his seat. Scratch that – Captain Adama settled into the small chair, dwarfing the barely padded chair with his size.

There was a certain hardness to his son that he couldn't pin point. Maybe it was just the adrenaline wearing off or the side effects from his concussion, but the stiff, by the book CAG that ran his flight deck 'by the numbers' was the person seated just off to his right, not his sensitive son who balanced his personal world against a pair of universal justice scales. If Lee needed to be Captain Adama, the so be it. Who was he, of anyone in the room, to judge anyone on how to handle this situation? Lords knew that he failed Starbuck and everyone in the room more than once.

"Okay, people – talk to me. Tell me what happened out there." Taking off his glasses and resting on the desk top, Adama waved at Sharon. "Tell us what happened to Starbuck." Turning to the other three, he added, "And then, I want to hear about what happened on that moon."

……….……….

The chair was small to begin with, but by the time Sharon ended her story – complete with subtle omissions that no one called her on, such as how she became privy to the extensive damage done to Kara's body – the chair was hard, uncomfortable and way too small for someone of his size. Hearing about the control chair that Kara had been forced into time and again, listening to the way she had been treated – somewhere between a lab-rat and zoo exhibit – made him clench his fists so hard that small, half-moon cuts marked his palms. The way Helo unconsciously threaded his arm through Sharon's, offering physical comfort and mental support as she recounted the way Starbuck gave her Zak's ring made him want to leave the room. The frakking unfairness of it all swamped his mind. Here she was, fighting for her life, by herself down in Life Station, and what was he doing? He was sitting in a room, taking in information that he would have gotten from Sharon anyway – with or without Helo's help. It was frakking obvious that in a nest-full of Cylons looking to destroy her, Starbuck would've made friends with the one Cylon embedded in a nest-full of humans looking to destroy 'her'.

Anger and frustration were wrecking havoc with his attention span. Even as he sat there, aware that his fidgeting wasn't going un-noticed, his mind was turning over the pieces of the Castor puzzle that came together during his vigil. But there was still a huge piece missing – the lynch pin, so to speak – that one detail that would put everything and everything into place. He couldn't figure it out. He would – he'd be damned if he didn't – sooner, than later. He just needed to think about it, look at it another way…

"Apollo? Apollo!"

Turning to the Commander, Lee slipped back into Captain mode. "Sorry – just processing what Sharon was saying about the feedback and how that was the reason why when we boarded," he pointed to himself and Helo, "all the Cylons – humanoid models and Centurions – were dead, dying or incapacitated."

Not one of his best recoveries, but using it as a spring board to recount his experiences on the moon and inside the BaseStar, he let the words flow out of his mouth. He didn't care how long he talked, just so long as they covered all the 'ground' they needed so that he could get back to his notes. The answer he needed was there, he was sure of it.

Repeating himself for a third time that he never saw who was standing behind him and that Kara shot the Cylon model in the face hence obliterating 'his' identity, not the successful ruse she used to get a clean shot at Castor, did his voice mirror is inner irritation.

Helo's smooth timbre flowed around him as the slightly older man corroborated his story and added his own details. Surprisingly, it was Cally who had the most insightful things to say. Her view of what happened at the Mining Camp, the triage she performed, and the events on the Raptor as they brought Starbuck in was what recessed his hackles to a certain degree.

Not so subtly looking at his chronometer, he wasn't surprised that they'd been in the Commander's office for more than three hours. The Old Man looked tired and Sharon seemed like she was waning.

"Okay, that's enough for tonight. I want everyone to get some sleep. I will be expecting your reports within the next forty-eight hours. I want them hand delivered to Apollo or to myself – no one else. I don't need to remind everyone that what was said in this room stays in this room." Adjuring the 'debriefing', Adama stood.

Taking his cue from the Old Man, and everyone else as well, and grateful to be free of that blasted chair, he fought the reflex to stretch. Instead, he settled for rolling his shoulder joints as a means to relieve some the tension that wouldn't leave his muscles.

"Sharon!"

Helo's voice boomed and three people, Helo, Adama and himself, tried to reach for the Cylon as she stumbled dizzily to the side and crashed into the sideboard. It was Helo who caught her in time to prevent her from falling down but not before her hip collided with the piece of furniture. Jarred, pictures slid along the polished surface and a few tumbled to the deck.

"Are you okay?" Concern was etched in his face as he steadied her with both hands.

"Yeah – yeah – I'm fine – lost my balance. Just stood up too quickly, that's all." Reassuring Karl and trying not to make a big deal about it, she brushed a length of hair behind her ear as best she could with her bound hands. Proving her point and making amends, she bent at the knees and started picking up the fallen frames.

Listening to his father tell Helo to take Sharon back to Cottle, he didn't even know he was re-arranging the photographs to their original placements until both his hand and Sharon's were clutching the framed picture.

Looking up, about to tell her that he 'had it' and that she should get going to Life Station, the look on her face wasn't what he was expecting. Her grip on the edge of the frame was firm and her eyes were a mixture of shock and foreboding.

"Do you know who this man is?" Her voice was strained.

The brushed metal frame was one that he had held a number of times. He didn't have to see who Sharon was referring to in order to identify who was in the picture. "Yeah… it's a picture of my brother Zak, taken just after he entered the Academy." Her posture was resetting his hackles, and he didn't like the feeling of her knowing something that he didn't, especially when it came to his little brother. "Why – have you seen him before?"

"Yeah – I have. He was… He's the same man in that picture Boomer used to see hanging in Starbuck's locker all the time. That's where I saw him; well, not me per say, but…" Sharon explained and then let her voice trail off.

Scrutinizing her face, he wasn't alone in lacking 'quick recovery' skills. She was lying. At the very least, she wasn't telling him the whole truth. She had definitely seen him before and it was different enough context that it visibly rattled the Cylon. How the hell would she know Zak? Zak would have been another training-accident statistic by the time she was – Boomer was – at the Academy. Frak – too many frakking copies to keep up with: Boomer, Number Eight, Sharon… Where else would she have seen him?

His mind screaming in denial, he nodded his head numbly, "Yeah – that must've been it."

Making for the door, he didn't hear his father calling out to him or Sharon telling Helo to take off after him. He didn't see her point in the direction he was marching down the corridor. All he knew was that he had to get out there before he hurt someone. Preferably somewhere private and where he could be alone.

The lynch pin he had been looking for had just fallen into place.

……….……….

_That night, on Colonial One…_

"Thank you for your time, Madam President. Galactica will keep your office appraised of the situation as it develops." No sooner had the last word come out of his mouth was when Lieutenant Gaeta snapped an efficient, albeit barely respectful, salute.

Dismissing him wasn't necessary, he was already at the door and reaching for the handle by the time she registered just how plainly he wanted to get out of her office. Letting him see his own way out, Laura Roslin pushed her chair away from her desk and casually draped one leg over the other. Steepling her fingers, her eyes were focused inward instead of at the walls of her office or the starscape that flowed past her view-port windows.

When her secretary had told her that an officer from Galactica had arrived, carrying classified information, and that his orders were to deliver it personally, she had expected to hear about some mundane, but pertinent, report about some condition within the Fleet. The ensuing conversation contained information she never expected to hear, which explained why Uneasiness was currently fitting her for a second suit to layer underneath the one she was already wearing.

No.

Protocol had been followed; she couldn't find fault with the Commander's staff for that and Gaeta was an acceptable medium. The fact that it had been Gaeta who told her the news carried additional messages beyond the handful of words it took to relay the status of a recovered pilot. Among which was: _don't call us, we'll call you_.

Unfolding herself from her chair, it was a compulsive habit to double-check the latch on the door that separated her from the Press Room. Swivelling her heels against the carpeting, she went to her whiteboard. The Lords knew she lived and died by what that represented, but today, adjusting the number to increase the Fleet's current population by one, she felt that the cost paid for this one life was something that was going to have repercussions for a long time to come. Setting the marker down on the attached tray and putting her back to the new number, she was too restless and too caught up in her erratic thoughts to sit behind her desk. Wrapping her arms around her mid-drift, she carefully put one foot in front of the other as she slowly paced the breadth of her office.

She needed to think.

She couldn't – and wouldn't – apologize for making the decision to assassinate Kara Thrace. The personal opinions of Felix Gaeta and those who thought that what she did was irreprehensible mattered as much as they didn't matter. Her primary concern always had to be The Fleet – no matter who the players are or the mitigating circumstances. A niggling memory had her thinking about the conversation she had with Bill on Kobol. The way he regarded her then was indicative of how he was treating her now, specifically as it pertained to how she got Adama's 'daughter' to backtrack to Caprica for the Arrow of Apollo.

A sudden insight had her lifting her head and focusing on the rivets embedded in the ceiling of her cabin. She was being held accountable – by both Adamas – for choosing the most obvious solution to a probable security threat and forcing them to conform to her action plan instead of stepping back and looking at the perceived problem objectively. She was also being held accountable for underestimating the skills and talents of those involved and what they – particularly, the seemingly indestructible Starbuck – were capable of accomplishing. But that was something between her and Lieutenant – correction – _Captain_ Thrace. Facing the whiteboard, facing what it represented on several different levels, an introspective frown rubbed against the cornerstones of her faith. It was interesting how the Gods kept putting the young female pilot in her hands as a tool, almost like a sexton of old, to map the way to Earth.

By choosing Gaeta to be the one to tell her about Kara Thrace's miraculous return to the Fleet, Adama and his son had drawn a proverbial line in the sand as to where she could and could not go. Her Presidential reach got her a direct link to the battlestar's bridge any time of the day or night, but her days of asking for Captain Apollo and being connected to the CAG's office had come to an end. Not to mention that it'd be a long time, if at all, before she'd be able to address Bill as anything other than Commander. In their eyes, she separated family and made them agree to plan, and execute, a mission to murder one of their own in the name of Fleet security. If there was ever a tightrope between duty to the masses and personal kinship, she had walked it and lost her precarious balance.

Accepting that sleep was going to have to be put off until she figured out a way to fill-in the furrow that separated her from Adama and his children, one thing was certain. Finesse and special handling were going to have to be used with careful measure if she was going to get either of the Adamas to sign off on whatever solution she devised.

Renewed purpose had her sliding back into her chair. Relocating folders and dossiers to different piles, she cleared a section of her desk and reached for the phone.

Paging her secretary, she said, "Bring me everything we have on…"

bsg……….xxx……….bsg

It had been going on for hours. For a while, it would be quiet, then, an eruption of violence, screaming, shouting, throwing things and then things would quiet down again.

Following Lee as he blazed a path through Galactica's corridors was easy. Tracking him to the small side room where the punching bag was suspended and where D'Anna Biers filmed Kara for that documentary was also fairly simple – he left a wide wake everywhere he went.

Keeping on-lookers, busy-bodies and people looking for a heavy-bag work-out away was fairly simple. All he had to do was cross his arms over his chest and look intimidating as he told crew mates to move on, get a life or frak-off – whatever was most appropriate for the moment.

Never in a million years did Helo ever think he wanted to be like Starbuck. Sure, she was a great friend, a great drinking buddy, a frak-tastic pilot, but she had issues – more than most, if anyone asked him. But hearing Lee – Apollo – Captain Adama – tear up the room on the other side of the bulkhead doors made him wish for the first time that he was Starbuck because then he would have the stones to go in there and actually help Lee deal with whatever he was going through. The Gods knew he didn't think like Lee and he didn't process emotions like Lee did. Hell, nobody got through to Apollo like Starbuck and nobody reached Kara like Lee did. That woman lived and died by what Lee thought of her and Lee's world was incomplete without her circling in his orbit.

Tapping his head against the metal doors, he wondered how much longer Lee could keep it up.

A thought, born out of loyalty to a friend currently lying on her stomach because she couldn't be laid out on her back, had him gearing up for the long haul.

It didn't matter how long it took – he would be there when Lee decided to come out. He owed it to both of them.

_Five days later…_

Word had spread like wildfires sweeping across parched Aerilon pampas: Starbuck was back.

The effect those three words had on the Fleet was doubly felt on Galactica. Comm traffic was ridiculous. Supply runs took almost twice as long to complete because pilots and technicians at both ends of the lines were swapping what they perceived to be the latest news and extolling outlandish rumours that grew with every retelling – supplemented with sound effects and hand gestures. For the first time since the attacks, the nearly fifty thousand survivors who were caravanning across the galaxy were all sharing a common topic that didn't have to do with day-to-day survival, cramped living conditions or what the future was going to bring. From a command point of view, it meant that the cold shoulder he'd been subjected to since word had leaked about Sharon's covert mission, issued at his behest, had begun to thaw. But that didn't explain the sense of… not renewed hope, because those weren't the right words. It was like… It was like… It was like…

Walking into the Pilot's Ready Room for the first time in almost seven weeks, the phrase he was searching for was played out in living, breathing colour.

Stepping into the room and settling his shoulders against the back wall, he watched as Kat finished up some paperwork. Standing up and collecting her things, she tucked her folder under her arm and made her way to the hatch. He looked on as she made her way to the top of the room and absently pressed two fingers to the picture of Ripper, his friend and Galactica's CAG, who had been lost during the initial Cylon attacks. That she did out of habit, without knowing anything about the man, pilot or leader that he had been; it was the second picture, tacked up along side Ripper's, that she gave her eyes too and clapped her whole hand against as she cleared the door and stepped into the hallway.

Waiting until the nugget was out of sight, he peered at what would make Kat so respectful.

It was a picture of Starbuck, taken as she was settling into her Viper. Someone had snapped it as she was mounting up, responding to an Action Stations call and giving orders as she herself prepared to launch. Her head was turned towards the camera; her eyes were focused on someone out-of-frame and there was a certain intensity to her face that carried the moment in which the photo was captured.

It was like everyone knew that the Guardian of the Protectors of the Fleet was back. She might not be on her feet and she wasn't out of danger – not by a long shot, according to Cottle – but just by her being onboard the crew had galvanized one more time.

Crossing the room, he skimmed a hand over the top of the podium as he headed towards the CAG's office. Stopping at the duty-board, he gave it a quick scan. Nostalgia at the latent sensation of being behind the control stick of a Viper competed with his current position of command. The few seconds where he mentally re-arranged the board to fit his own name into the CAP rotation gave way to the reality of his situation. He was an old man with an old man's body; his time in a Viper had passed. Puffing out his chest, a wry smile crinkled his face. This Old Man wasn't down for the count, not by a long shot. He might've been knocked down a few times and forced to acknowledge that the final rounds were approaching, but he still had a lot of fight left in him. There was nothing stopping him from doing everything within his considerable skills to keep his people from being annihilated by the Cylons. That, was his job now. Just as vital as and a lot more convoluted than a Viper pilot, it had the added bonus of coming with a red-piped uniform that looked damn good on him – better than any flight suit he wore in his youth.

Not bothering to knock, he turned the handle and swung the door open. There were several things he wanted to go over with his CAG and there was a very important matter he wanted to talk to his son about. For the past four days, ever since materializing after Helo signed Apollo out as being 'sick', Lee had been avoiding him. He had tried summoning his son to his office, only to have Captain Adama deliver his reports crisply and efficiently. He had tried to catch him at Kara's bedside, only to hear that the only times Lee stopped by Life Station was during the deepest hours of third shift. He even made a trip to the hanger bay, thinking that Apollo was trying to sidestep him by working on every Viper in the Air Group. Instead, he found the Chief looking over his parent's copy of the Book of Cassandra and making notes on the back side of a – now un-necessary – purchase order pad.

Stepping over the threshold, he expected to find Lee sitting behind his desk, cornered and peering up at him over a pile of paperwork. The fact that Laura Roslin was currently taking up carpet space in Lee's office made him want to leave the room. He didn't. He kept his pace and let the door swing shut. Momentum secured the latch. To her credit, the welcoming expression on her face didn't waver. She was obviously expecting someone else as well.

Keeping his expression as neutral as possible, his mind played out different reasons for her being on Galactica and waiting on his son. Connecting the dots, he had to stamp down his irritation. She wanted to make an ally out of Lee and then, together, approach him with an idea she knew he would veto if she came to him on her own. If she thought she stood a snowball's chance on Scorpia at getting him to agree to whatever she had concocted, then she would've been waiting for him in one of the empty conference rooms. Apparently she missed the memo on just how much Lee disliked spending any amount of time on the planet Scorpia.

"Madame President, I was looking for my CAG." His statement had the edge of a question to it. Suppressed anger made him formal and possessive. The word 'convoluted' resurfaced in his mind.

"What an interesting coincidence," Roslin turned on her heels and gave him an appraising look, "looks like we are waiting on the same person."

Stifling his primary instinct to leave the verbal jousting contest he had instigated was difficult. Politics were for politians, not Battlestar Commanders. But if he played by his rules, he wouldn't get anywhere. If he played by her rules, he might get what he needed to reset their mutual positions into what the Fleet needed them to be, but that wasn't a guarantee. Taking a page from his son's strategy book, he blended it with a bit of his daughter's talent of keeping those around her reactive. Opting to nod officiously, he made sure his next question was one that would need careful consideration before answering. "Would you like to have him paged, Madame President?"

"No, I don't think I'll do that, Commander." Her gentle shake of her head and the half-smile she used to disarm political opponents made his posture more rigid. She must have picked up on his subtle shift because she slipped her glasses off her nose and put them in her pocket. Changing tactics and crossing her arms underneath her chest, she looked up at him and made deliberate eye contact. "You see, I was going to ask Captain Adama his opinion on an up-coming event and how to best approach you with it."

"I'm sure that if you filed your request through the proper channels, it would get to me." Her specialty of mixing truth with a false sense of vulnerability wasn't going to work with him today. Not cutting her any quarter and still keeping the same mix of deliberateness and unpredictability, he played his next move. He inclined his head respectfully, as she was still the President of the Colonies, and turned to take his leave.

"Commander Adama, if you have a moment." Falling back on another tactic he knew she used on a regular basis, her tone made a statement out of what would be a question from anyone else. "Since you and I are both here, perhaps we can expedite the process."

Sliding his hands into a neutral position, he couldn't stop her from speaking. Nor could he disagree that curtailing the remnants of 'red tape' that still existed between Galactica and Colonial One was a good idea. "I'm listening."

Outlining her proposal, he stood still and didn't interrupt her. Looking at it from all sides, the offer was politically savvy as much as it was a sincerely thoughtful gesture. In another time, in another place, under different circumstances, he would have been deeply honoured to have such an event take place on his ship, regardless of the self-serving undercurrent.

"We'll make it happen. But on one condition." He stamped down the smug grin that begged to be set free as her eyes widened at his unexpected stipulation. She possessed intermediate skills in the political arena, but she wouldn't last more than a couple of hands in a Triad tournament with Apollo, Starbuck or Husker as opponents. "You don't attend."

"Excuse me?"

"If we're going to do this, then we're going to do this without you using it as a means to bolster your flagging Fleet popularity or an attempt to 'buy' the good graces of me and my crew." He spoke levelly, daring her to contradict him. Apparently, she was counting on her silence to be an effective tool in making him explain himself. Hadn't she learned by now that there were precious few to whom he had to justify his actions?

The silence stretched for two long moments. It was proving interesting to see who would capitulate first.

She did.

"Fine. Done. I won't attend."

"There's one more thing."

He wasn't _done _yet.

Things weren't _fine_ – yet.

"You are the President of the Colonies. I and my crew and my family will follow your orders, within the parameters of the laws that we live by and the agreements we have developed with the Quorum of Twelve. However, I am going to make you a promise – here and now – with only the Gods and ourselves as witnesses." Dropping the stance that had gotten him this far, he needed her to understand that he was not going to be trifled with when it came to his family. "Twice you have pitted Lee against me, you have manipulated Kara into desertion under the banner of 'the greater good' and now you have forced my hand when it came to the lives of my children." It was perfectly clear that he was referring to Lee and Kara. "The next time you interfere in a family affair, the next time you consider manipulating any one of us, I promise you that you will be the recipient of the one ramification I believe you haven't considered."

Her hands were still crossed in front her chest, but she side-stepped to Lee's desk and leaned a hip against the edge. Her expectant gaze was the equivalent of asking the question she voiced anyway. "You'll stage a military coup?"

"No. We've been there and done that. The only thing that accomplished was civil strife. Our people don't deserve to be victimized any more than they already have." He didn't rise to the levity her ridiculous connotation carried. "What I'm promising you, Madame President, is that you'll be left to govern the people without the support of me and my military. Don't get me wrong. We'll do our jobs and we will protect the Fleet to our last breath. But consider how effective your Presidency will be without us to back you up on daily 'affairs of state' and long-range planning of what you deem 'in the best interests of the Fleet'. Not to mention how quickly our 'blind eyes' will start 'seeing' again." Completely secure in what he was saying, he added, "I'm sure my son would be interested in chairing that committee and taking a closer look at how your office works as my daughter slips in and integrates herself with your support staff as only she can do."

He had her, and she knew it. He could tell by the way she stopped to think about what to say next. A coup she could fight. She knew that her title of President was superfluous on a lot of the ships in the Fleet and she didn't have the means to get done what all the behind-closed-doors meetings, quietly placed phone calls and private conversations – that radiated out from Galactica and its network of specialists, pilots and technicians – accomplished on a daily basis. It was Adama's men and women, not hers, who cajoled, coerced, facilitated and finagled the tenuous level of co-operation that tethered each ship to the next. Taking Galactica's connections out of the complicated equation that enabled her administration to function would render her and her office inert. Truth be told, it would be easier to fight a coup or a rebellion than try to govern a traumatized, fragmented populace devoid of Adama's stamp of approval.

"What I did, I did for the safety and security of the Fleet." She stated her rationale one more time with the purpose of tying together her decision to his acceptance of the situation they both had to face. "Of which, you agreed with me was what we had to do."

"I did." Taking responsibility for his actions with those two words he wasn't about to cut himself, or her, any slack. "And now I have to answer for it. I have to look my daughter – one of my officers and a fellow pilot – in the eye and tell her that I ordered her death. Not to mention that one of these days, because she is the daughter of my heart, she'll hold you accountable as well. When that day comes, you're going to need a better answer than 'safety and security of the Fleet'. Kara Thrace keeps a score card and no one holds a better grudge than Lee Adama." He kept his gaze steadily on Roslin. "But do it again, if you try to manipulate me, Lee or Kara again, you'll find out just how empty those words sound when you're saying them by yourself and there's no one standing behind you justifying your decisions, Madame President."

"I understand."

He could tell that on a lot of levels, she did. He just wasn't sure if her comprehension was as complete as the conviction she used. But that wasn't his problem anymore – that was hers.

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other." Switching the topic back to her proposal, he made a suggestion. "Let's go back to my office and see how we can put this into motion."

Opening the door for her, he waited for her to walk into the Ready Room before pulling the hatch shut behind him. Letting her precede him, the large frame of Karl Agathon darkened the doorway that led to the access corridor. Returning Helo's salute with one of his own, the reason for him being in this part of the ship had Adama looking up and asking the ECO a question. "Do you know where we can find Apollo?"

It wasn't lost on either him or Roslin that Helo kept his face and tone carefully schooled. "Captain Adama is off until tomorrow. There's something he needed to do and he asked me to switch shifts with him."

xxx……….bsg……….xxx

Five days wasn't enough – not nearly enough. But, what he had five days to understand – to grossly misuse the word – Kara had processed and reacted too in a matter of minutes.

Having watched the replay of the battle-tapes so many times over the past seven weeks, every word she said over the ship-to-ship wireless that day had a place in his memory and the full effect of what she was really saying played like surround-sound in his ears.

Making his way down the corridor, three sentences echoed in his head time and again. He could see the moment in which she had snapped out her decree: the Cylon Fleet had just short-jumped nuclear-bearing Raiders into point-blank firing positions in front of every ship in the Colonial Fleet and their own defences had been decimated to only a handful of ships, the Raptors he and Karl had been assigned to that also fell under Starbuck's command. He didn't need the playback to hear the calm fury and solemn conviction in her voice.

"_Galactica Actual – Black Leader; do what you can and leave the BaseStar and Heavy Raider to us. I'm invoking Blood Rights. They're asses belong to us."_

He had no idea how she did it but then again, he didn't need too. If he wanted too, he could probably trace the sequence of events that enabled this to happen and that Sharon's name would fill in a lot of the blanks. But right now, none of that mattered. Two things were vitally important. This wasn't and couldn't be about him – it was going to be all about her and what she needed to do inside a medium-sized storeroom tucked away in an all-but-forgotten cranny somewhere in the vicinity of Galactica's stern.

Stepping through the hatch and taking care to shut it as quietly as possible, he instinctively respected the fact that the overhead lights were off. The haze that initially stung his eyes was drifting down from the ceiling; plumes of blue-grey smoke tumbled and curled with the air-currents flowing from the ventilation system. Control panels, designed to monitor environmental levels including heat, smoke and carbon dioxide, had been pulled open and he could see where wires had been cut to disable the alarms.

Keeping his footsteps silent, as well as the contents of the box he carried, he made his way to the middle of the room. A fire was already burning. Standing out starkly against the glow, a leanly muscled arm picked up a lit Prayer Candle. With a flick of a wrist, molten wax was strewn across the length of the pyre. Bold shades of orange and gold made the surrounding darkness more complete as the wax flared into flames.

Coming up behind her, the renewed blaze highlighted the damage done to someone who was more to him than a best friend and a wing-mate. For the first time, he actually saw what had been done to her. Snake-like, red welts were layered over a lattice of puffed-up cuts of various lengths. Where the skin wasn't cut, bruising in as many shades as there were levels of healing, marbled the skin in between the lash marks. The infection that Cottle promised would happen had started to take hold. He could see it in the swelling of the skin around the stitches that bound the deeper cuts and the way he didn't have to put his hand to her skin to know the kind of heat that would be radiating off of her back. Coming around her and pausing at her shoulder, it wasn't her nakedness that made him want to avert his eyes. It was the puncture wounds, which trailed down a set of arms that were currently hugging her knees to her chest. Legs crossed at the ankles concealed her nether regions but didn't hide the ligature marks that ringed her ankles and wrists. Her pale blond hair took on the same colours as her fire.

Long tapered fingers were quick and efficient when they brushed up against a scab on the backside of her shoulder and pulled it free. Flicking the flakes of dried blood into the fire, the same hand rose again and dragged a finger-nail across the exposed cut. Only when the blood began to flow over her hand did he find the strength to crouch down on his heels and still her fingers. Hovering near her shoulder, captivated by the elaborate simplicity of what she had done, it took him a second to realize that her focus had shifted and that she was looking at him. Keeping her eyes with his, Lee felt the power of the sanctity of what was taking place around him.

Growing up, forced to attend Temple until he was old enough to do other things, the priests and priestesses had, on occasion, touched on the Ritual of Blood Rights during the course of their teachings. In the simplest terms, the ritual pertained to the price a person paid to the Gods for the Gods seeing that person through a time of trial and tribulation. The more the Gods interceded on behalf of the person, the higher the price that person paid. Here and there, he had caught vague allusions that some of the older priests and priestesses assigned to the more sacred areas of the Temple had actually performed the Ritual during the First Cylon War. But for the most part, the teachings revolved around stories of old and legends of those whose debts to the Gods were their mortal lives because that's what they bartered their survival against. That was the romanticised version. In actuality, the Ritual of Blood Rights was so much deeper than that. Among so many other things, Blood Rights also involved retribution sought in the name of the Gods and the ritualistic fire was a stepping stone to healing from such an event because the Gods only helped those who helped themselves. What the priests and the priestesses had left out of their lessons with their stories of old and remembered participation, Kara Thrace was personifying in all its terrible splendour.

Two fingers on her right hand were coated with her own blood – her thumb she used to wipe away the thick tear drops that overflowed from his eyes. Mingling his tears with her blood, she cast the offering into the fire. His head turned in the direction of the sizzling and snapping sounds the sudden moisture created when the drops speckled the items that made up her pyre.

Dress greys, bandages, sets of officer's 'blues', boots, tanks, Triad cards – anything and everything she considered tainted by Castor fuelled her meagre, but potent, Alter of Ares. Forming an Eternal Triangle around the pyre were three idols: Artemis, Aphrodite and Athena. Each idol was flanked by a pair of Prayer Candles. The melted wax was significant on a lot of levels, the least of which was that it was the only accepted accelerant for the pyre.

Sinking to the floor and setting his box down, it was okay with him that Kara had resumed the ritual. He needed a moment to mentally collect himself as he reached into the box and started to pull out sheaves of papers. While the flames jumped and flared as wax was added, he scattered the papers over her pyre. The papers were his notes, interview transcripts and rescue/battle plans that had given him some semblance of 'helping her' while she had been held captive. He didn't have to believe in the Gods order to be here with her, she believed enough for the both of them. Just as the flames licked at the edges of the papers, she pulled apart a line of stitches on the back of her other shoulder. Shaking the trails of blood that beaded down and around her hand into the fire, she consecrated his offerings to Ares, Artemis, Athena and Aphrodite for getting her through her ordeal on the BaseStar.

One by one, idol by idol, the melted wax that pooled near the wicks of the Prayer Candles was strewn in to the fire. Each candle, representing the six reasons for mortal life, as well as paying homage to the Gods and Goddesses, made a pass over the Alter.

The emotions rising and falling in his chest made him want to hide his face in shame. Ever since he entered the room, Kara had looked at him only once and he had yet to see her break from whatever mental place she had retreated too in order to give the Gods their due. That is, until he realized that there was one item she hadn't offered to the Gods. Unable to make out what it was, one thing was certain. Whatever she had, it was something that elicited a tremble from her hand and a momentary wobble in her chin.

Stretching out his left hand in a silent request for her to give him what was in her hand, he could see why she was so affected. It was the photograph of Zak, Kara and himself; the same picture that he hung in the roof of her bunk and the same picture he saw every night before he went to sleep. Her hesitancy to toss it into the fire mirrored the pain he felt in his chest. The choices she had to make in order to come back to him, his father and the Fleet he couldn't begin to wrap his head around. The decision whether or not to burn a photograph was one thing he could help her decide.

"You came back." He didn't know why he spoke, but his words came from the barest part of his soul.

"Almost Lee – almost." Her face still tilted at the growing pile of embers and ash, her eyes flicked up at him. Her answer was just as honest and came from an equally naked part of her heart. The fact that she didn't have to add that there were still significant pieces of her missing wasn't lost on him.

Gripping the picture tightly with his finger and thumb, he met her gaze and held it as tenderly as he knew how. "How were the Elysian Fields?"

"I don't know." Tones of red, gold and orange from the fire created an ethereal corona around her but her answer was quick and sincere. "I never got that far."

"What happened?" She died – several times. He knew it. He felt it. He had cradled her in his arms when her heart stopped beating and her chest stopped rising and falling. If Kara Thrace, one person he admired and respected for being the warrior that she was, hadn't been welcomed into the Elysian Fields, what chance did he have, given all the mistakes he had done in his life?

"I wanted to, Lee. That's where I was supposed to go. But there was a condition."

Her answer snapped him away from his insecure thoughts and filled his mind, and face, with confusion.

"I couldn't take you with me."

A memory he wasn't privy too played out on her face and made her eyes grow even more distant. "I couldn't do that." Keeping an arm firmly against her legs, the other hand she stretched towards the fire. Spreading her thumb and forefinger apart, like she was holding something only she could see, that eerily remorseful voice of hers carried over the pyre. "I asked to be alone for a moment, and while he was gone, I dumped the vial out on my bed and dropped it on the floor so that I couldn't change my mind. I never told him what I did because I figured it wouldn't matter anyway, seeing as how he wouldn't be allowed to remember me." A tear-bright sheen made her eyes glitter as she kept her focus solely on the way the flames consumed her offerings. "How could I keep my promise to never forget you if everything I knew was going to be taken away from me? How would I know to look for you, when your time came, if I didn't know you to begin with?"

He didn't know everything she was talking about – pieces of what she said made sense. A conversation, seven weeks old, replayed in his mind.

"_I don't know how to say this to you." The honest tremble in her voice was different from the voice she used to convey the end game in front of them._

"_Neither do I." It wasn't a cop out and this wasn't the time for flowery speeches. This was it and they both knew it._

"_I love you, Kara."_

"_I love you too, Lee."_

_Hearing her swallow, her next words made his eyes sting. "If you see Zak before I do, let him know I won't be long, okay?"_

"_Done; the same goes for you, you know." Lee could not keep the thickness out of his voice._

"_Not a chance, Adama. I'll wait for you, if that's the case. I think I like the idea of exploring the Elysian Fields with you for the next eternity or so. Zak can find us if that's going to be the case." Lee could hear the sincerity in Kara's promise._

"_Forever never sounded so good, Kara," Lee offered his own promise. "Maybe we will even find our father while we're at it."_

"_All we have to do is find your mom, Lee – that's where we'll find your dad. He'll be holding her hand as he reaches out to you and pulls you close."_

She had promised to never forget him and they had made a mutual pact to look for each other in the Elysian Fields when it came time for each of them to cross over. But the details she was bringing up – a vial? – forgetting him? – being forgotten by someone else? She was making sense to herself, and that was all that mattered. If she wanted to clue him in, that was entirely up to her. He wasn't about to press her for explanations right now.

"I made the right choice to come back, Lee." She might have said his name, but he felt like she was talking to someone else, someone who was only a ghost in her mind. Her eyes fell on the photo in his hand.

"Was this taken before or after, Kara?" He had rehearsed every possible way to broach it to her, but now that the moment was happening, all his carefully worded sentences seemed trite. What he thought were going to be the hardest words for him to utter paled at the way she said she gave up Eternity for him. If she could do that, then he could say the words no other human being would ever hear again.

Guilt, a thousand-fold more than he ever felt before, brought fresh tears to his eyes as he watched Kara's stoic face, the mask she needed to do what had to be done, crack, crumble and shatter into dust. Rawness, true, exposed, rawness highlighted her cheekbones and broke her voice.

"You weren't supposed to know – that was why… Oh, Gods," a sniffle and a hand pressed to her chin made him want to hold her. But he didn't. She wasn't looking for the consolation that he wanted to offer just to appease his own need to take care of her. She was trying to ask him for an explanation.

Real pain gripped his insides as he realized why his vaguely worded question – about when that picture had been taken – broke Kara's emotional threshold. He was never supposed to find out. That was the deal she had made with herself, made with the Gods and made with Zak – that he would never find out that Zak, at one point, had been a Cylon. That by protecting the Fleet, she was ultimately protecting him and his father… Bile rose in his throat and it was barely suppressed as he saw her convince herself that she had failed, that all she had endured and all that she had survived and all that she had given up had been in vain.

"Don't. Even. Go. There. Kara." Vehemently contradicting the desperation that lit her eyes, never had he physically ached for someone. Never had he ever let himself be so emotionally exposed. But he was going to be frakked if she thought – for a single second – he was going to let her believe that she had failed. "I put the pieces together, on my own, with no one but Karl as a sounding board."

How could he say that a chance encounter over some knocked over pictures was what tumbled all the pieces and all the clues into place? He couldn't tell her about the process of elimination system he used to figure out Castor's identity, how he dissected her life and peeled back the layers of privacy she wrapped her past in to come up with a the one key question that would give him the answers he so desperately sought. Who did she know, on an intimate basis, before the worlds ended, that he and the Old Man and Helo knew she would do anything and everything with in her power to protect them from? Persephone was a name 'he' called her, as an endearment, and Castor was 'his' call-sign; Castor had a brother, an immortal brother, placed in the heavens by their father, Zeus.

Absolute security that no one, not even Bill Adama, knew her secret infused his words as he nodded at the ashes accumulating around the edges of the dying fire, "And now, those pieces are in the hands of the Gods."

If he ever thought that he and Kara were bonded, that definition was redefined the moment she accepted his words. If he ever thought he was taking part in something sacred and special, those definitions were refined by the experience they were sharing.

"He never loved me, did he?"

"'He' told you, didn't 'he'?" Nodding briefly, the way she rested her forehead on her upturned knees and hid her face from him touched the darker places in his psyche.

Mother-frakker! Her Blood Rights, destroying the BaseStar with the Heavy Raider in it before it could explode on its own and killing Zak with her own hand, made his need for retribution redundant. But 'he' had no right telling her that – even if it was the truth. Part of the reason why he felt so much resentment towards Kara for her relationship with Zak wasn't just because he knew that his brother had only instigated the relationship as a way to make sure he got through Basic Flight, it was directed at Kara herself because she believed herself to be so unlovable that she fell for a façade. The irony was that love for her was what drove Cylon 'Zak' – the only way he could think about the machine that had once been his brother – to manipulate an entire war effort to capture her. It was love – not that she would ever admit to it or identify it as such – that made her bring down an entire BaseStar and kill the one man she firmly believed always loved her and had never let her down. Still, Kara deserved to know the truth, not what some Cylon with an ulterior motive decided she should know just so that he could frak with her head.

"Zak did come to care about you, Kara. That _is_ the truth. He genuinely liked being around you and was hooked on your fearlessness." In his head, he saw the numerous arguments he had with Zak about Kara, about how what Zak was doing was wrong, and how Zak would counterpoint by saying that if their father could do it, and then he could too and then go on the offence by accusing Lee of having other reasons for jumping down his throat other than the principle of right and wrong. Within the storm of dredged up memories, a moment of brotherly affection softened his voice. "Zak knew I liked having you around."

It was Kara's voice that pulled him from his reverie.

"I don't want to know a life without you in it, Lee Adama."

Accepting her gift for what it was, he turned to the dying fire and into it he threw a selection of his own memories and hard-thoughts and let them become ethereal wisps of smoke that Galactica's ventilation system would eventually push into the dark vacuum of space.

One cheek resting on one of her knees, Kara's eyes were still deeply shadowed by what had happened over the past seven weeks, but their hazel-green colour wasn't corrupted by self-loathing. He knew the difference between resignation and recognition but the expression on Kara's face was neither. It was something else altogether. "But you have to know that there are parts of me that are used up and there are other parts that are dead."

Standing and walking around the edge of the pyre, he made it a point to sit right next to her. Resting his hand on her knees, he could see a fresh hospital gown pooled beside her. Still not seeing her nakedness, she let him turn her until she was facing him and drew a comb out of his pocket. Slowly and deliberately, focusing on how the teeth of the comb slid through the white-gold of her hair, he started to speak.

"I don't believe that – not for a second – Kara Thrace. I am here to tell you – before the Gods and each other – that you will be exactly as you want to be. You are an unstoppable force of nature which cannot be caged or contained." Closing his eyes to blink his watery eyes clear, he added, "No matter what – whatever happens, has happened or will happen again – you are a true woman, Kara. Nothing and no one will ever change that."

A jangling sound from his other pocket carried over the thrum of a Battlestar. Spreading the chain to loop it over her neck, she jerked her head away. Not to be deterred, he let his eyes carry the sincerity of his words. "Whether or not you keep them is up to you, but there isn't a single person alive who deserves to wear the uniform more than you."

Seeing the brushed silver of her newly minted dog-tags rest against her skin made him want to suspend the moment, but there was one more thing he had to do. This time, though, when he tried to give her back her wings, there was nothing he could do to convince her to take them back. Silently shaking her head, the double-standard that they represent she knows first hand. She had been an instrument of destruction by both Cylons and Colonials where the only differences between the two races were ideologies. The terrible thought that Kara would never again take to the sky was something that he had to surrender to the last of the embers of her Alter. The Gods would show her the way – he would trust Them with that much.

Still focused on the spent pyre, he could hear her shifting around and reaching for her hospital gown.

Knowing her need to make herself climb to her feet doesn't stop him from watching her and making sure she found her balance. Swinging his feet in front of him, a couple of deft pulls had the lacings on his boots loosened. A couple of quick tugs later, his socks were off and his boots were back on his feet.

"Put your hand on my shoulder." Lee didn't dare look up as he reached for Kara's feet, but the fact that he felt a feel a weak grip near his neck gave him the go-ahead. A small, slightly impish smile crinkled the corner of his mouth as he surprised her by putting his socks on her feet and answered her teasing smirk with a simple – and obvious – reason. "You don't have any anymore – remember?"

Carefully threading a supportive arm around her waist earned him a swat from her hand. He got the point: she got herself there, she could get herself out. It was a slow walk to the hatch and he didn't stop her from pulling open the door and clearing the threshold even when she went pale and a cold sweat broke out all over her body, making her gown stick to her back and arms. What it cost her to do what she did – give the Gods their due – was going to be paid for by Cottle and seeing just how talented he was going to be at snatching Kara away from the deadly threat the infection posed. But he knew why she did it – because there was a chance that the infection she knew had started would take her and keep her.

Once in the corridor was when her head tipped back and her abused body gave out. Catching her, he gently lowered her to the deck. She was in no conditioned to be carried all the way to Life Station – if he tried, he would only end up doing more damage. Sprinting to the nearest call-box, he paged the Office of the Watch.

"This is Captain Adama – I have a medical emergency. I need a gurney and medics to Sub-Level Twenty-Seven-Pee. I have an officer down."

Putting the phone back in its cradle, he backtracked to Kara. Still out and shaking with chills, he slipped off his jacket and spread it over her. Looking up and down the corridor, he scolded himself at expecting to see Cottle's people suddenly materialized. Even at top speed, it would take several minutes for them to get there.

A sudden thought had him lifting his head and heading back into the storage room.

Flicking on the over head lights, it didn't take him long to find what he was looking for – the picture of him, Zak and Kara. She never told him what she wanted to do with it. Stuffing it into his pocket, he swiftly tackled the control panels Kara had dismantled. Putting the wires to rights – enough to pass at first glance – he pulled the door shut and spun the lock. Later, he and Helo would come down and clean up. He made a mental note to talk to Tyrol about what to do with the ashes.

Making his way back to Kara, he knelt down and pulled her into his lap. Her back was every bit as hot as he initially thought it would be, and the puncture wounds had sickly, yellow rings around them.

A weak hand reaching for his cheek had him looking down. It was Kara – barely lucid – but her eyes were open and she was trying to talk to him. Leaning forward he put his face closer to her lips and was surprised when she pressed a quick kiss into his stubble and whispered into his neck.

"Don't worry, Lee – I'm not going anywhere. I'm gonna be around to twirl that stick up your ass…"

Secure in her promise, he pulled her closer and murmured into her hair, "You do that, Kara. You do that…"

_Battlestar Galactica………. Battlestar Galactica………. Battlestar Galactica………_

: Refers to a moment in Chapter 4

: Refers to a moment in Chapter 10: Engagement, one: where Kara first declares Blood Rights, the second: Lee and Kara have a moment over the wireless.


	23. Chapter 23: Chapt 22: Epilogue

Hello, Everyone!

This is it – the epilogue is here and the story is completely finished.

PLEASE – PLEASE – PLEASE – let me know what you think?!?!?!?!!!

And – THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!! …..

**Another Way: Epilogue**

_**Three days later…**_

"GET YOUR FRAKKING CLAWS OFF ME!"

Intravenous lines were pulled tautly and Ishnay half-expected to see the IV stand come crashing down on her head at any second.

"YOU BASTARDS AREN'T GOING TO TAKE HIM – OVER MY FRAKKING DEAD BODY!"

"I need some help in here!" Hollering over her shoulder, she heard the sound of running footsteps as she skewered the frightened nurse standing on the other side of Starbuck's gurney with an accusatory glare. "What the FRAK did you do?"

"Nothing! I was taking her vitals and the next thing I know she's-"

"I SAID FRAK OFF!" Bucking and thrashing, Starbuck was hell bent on getting away from whatever she was seeing in her head.

Two more orderlies, one in the shape of Gunny, pushed aside the sterile plastic and rushed in to assist.

"She's delusional, you twit! Didn't you read her chart? Didn't you see how high her fever is?" Reaming the other nurse a new orifice with her scathing questions, Ishnay looked at Gunny. "I want each of you to get a hold of her upper arm and her wrist. I need you to hold her steady for just a few seconds."

Manoeuvring around the men, she dashed out and ran to the med-station. Grabbing a syringe and a bottle of sedative, she filled the needle and tapped out the air bubbles. Wasting no time, she cleared a path to Starbuck's room just in time to see Cottle drop what he was doing and head in her direction.

"What the hell happened here?" Cottle barked.

"I'LL SEND EVERONE OF YOU FRAKKERS TO HELL!"

Pointing to the nurse pressed back against the blood-pressure monitor, trying to silence the alarm as Kara's blood pressure skyrocketed, Ishnay brought him up to speed with a disparaging twist to her mouth. "Talon-woman here didn't wake Starbuck up before she decided to take her pulse."

Wedging herself between Gunny's biceps and Kara's upper arm, she didn't even bother to swab the site before she stuck the needle into the pilot's arm and pressed the plunger. She didn't have the time to watch Cottle grab the nurse's hands and examine her overly manicured fingers as the fight suddenly went out of Starbuck. She was focused on watching the sedative take effect.

She did share a smirk with Gunny when she heard Cottle reduce the other nurse to tears.

"You're on bedpan duty until further notice. Get out of here, now!"

Not sparing the dumb-ass a second glance as she made her way out of the room, Ishnay looked at Gunny, Cottle and the assisting orderly. "Thank you."

Shaking out the blanket that had fallen to the floor and spreading it out over a knocked-out Starbuck, Gunny looked a little shell-shocked. "What happened to her?"

Crisis solved, for the moment, and leading everyone out of the room, Cottle fished around in his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one up, he didn't answer until he had inhaled two full drags.

"I've seen that happen before, back in med-school with vets from the First Cylon War. She back-flashed; the nurse has overly-long nails that looked like Centurion claws to her fevered brain. When she went to take Starbuck's heart-rate, Thrace's internal panic button went off."

"At least it's over." Relief and concern had the Marine briefly looking over his shoulder at Kara before turning to face Ishnay and Cottle. Gunny's soft spot for the Viper pilot was known ship-wide.

Exhaling blue smoke, Cottle waved his cigarette at each of them.

"Don't send out for the cheerleaders just yet. It's gonna get worse before it gets better, people."

……….……….

_**Two days later…**_

Sitting and finishing up her end-of-shift reports, a tall blond woman striding out of Life Station with a camera swinging from her hand had to be ignored because every alarm to every machine in Kara Thrace's room was sounding.

Kicking back her chair, Ishnay collided with a gurney that had been propelled by a fever-strong Starbuck. Rivulets of blood were streaming down her neck from where she had ripped out the IV ports from her neck as she lurched her way across Life Station.

"Stop her! Stop the Cylon! There's a Cylon in here!" Kara's raspy voice rang out and commandeered everyone's attention. Panicking, those who were not sick headed for the door and into the outside corridor.

Not knowing what Kara was seeing this time in her fever-induced hallucination, Ishnay was too late to stop an orderly from approaching Kara. Attempting a head-on approach, the orderly got a bare foot firmly implanted into his scrotum. Keeping one eye on Kara, her peripheral vision caught a glimpse of Captain Adama threading his way through the people trying to leave Life Station.

"Captain Adama – its Captain Thrace!" Yelling over patients and staff members trying to get control of the situation, she saw him nod. He heard her. He was going to get Starbuck.

Lee could see Kara's fever bright eyes sweep Life Station with all the intensity she used when getting lock-and-tone in her Viper as she stumbled over the downed orderly. Bouncing off of a hip-high medical tray, Kara didn't even look down when the instruments clattered to the floor. She was on a mission and wasn't going to stop until she succeeded in finding the Cylon that only she could see.

He had to get to her before she hurt herself any more.

Sidestepping a wheelchair and coming around the backside of the duty-desk, he could see her fighting to keep her balance as she step-staggered forward.

_Just a little closer…_

A surge of speed had him right behind her and his two arms wrapped themselves around her waist, carefully avoiding her knitting ribs.

"NO! NO! LET ME GO! I'VE GOT TO GET HER!"

"Kara – listen to me. It's me – it's Lee!" Locking her head against his neck with his chin, he breathed into her ear. "Listen to my voice, Kara – it's me. You're safe. There are no Cylons here."

Using his weight and saving his strength for keeping her tucked against his body, he brought them both to the floor. Still struggling but feeling the adrenaline wearing off, he heard her tell him she wasn't making it all up.

"No, Lee – you have to believe me. I was asleep and when I woke up, she was there. Number Three was standing on the other side, watching me. She was there, Lee. I swear to you – she was there."

Murmuring into her hair but not releasing the hold he had on her, "Its okay Kara. You're safe, now."

Bright green eyes tinged with red looked up at him. "How do you know that, Lee?"

"Because I promise you that you are, Kara." Waving off Ishnay and her syringe, he whispered, "Dad and I are going to make sure of that, Kara."

The way she slumped in his arms as fevered exhaustion overtook her was all the answer he was going to get.

Scooping her up, he carried her all the way to her bed. Settling her down on her stomach and resting her cheek on the face-pad, he looked at Ishnay and took in her grateful expression. Thinking about telling her how he had just gotten off-shift from CIC and had been on his way to visit with Kara when all hell broke loose, he opted to say something else all together.

Tersely, he ground out four words that carried as much weight as any order he had ever given to one of his pilots under his command.

"Take care of her."

"I will." Readjusting the monitors and signalling for a nurse to bring some more equipment, she looked up at the tightly wound Captain. "If we can get her through the next forty-eight hours then she'll be through the worst of it. The question is, Captain, is whether or not she'll let us take care of her or if she's going to fight us every step of the way."

Bsg……….xxx……….bsg……….

_Eleven days later…_

She might have been out of the loop for a while, but she hadn't forgotten that when second shift gave way to third shift was the quietest time on a Battlestar. CAPS were switched up, nocturnal duties were taking place and everyone who was scheduled for down time was in their racks, sleeping.

Cottle said she could go 'home' tomorrow and technically, it was tomorrow and, hence, she was out of there. If there was an upside to being as sick as she was, it was the fact that she was either too 'out of it' or too busy 'getting better' to be able to think about anything. Now that she was more than on the mend, her mind was spinning at a million parsecs per second and it wasn't showing any signs of slowing down any time soon.

Still wearing Lee's socks and easing a pair of soft pants up and over her hips and knotting the string, she reached for the button-up shirt Cally had left for her. A sudden flashback of stripping a Simon model of his dress shirt had her dropping the plackets she held in her hand like they were a pair of venomous snakes about to bite her.

It was odd how the smallest things would send her off into flashback so vivid that she actually believed she was reliving what had previously occurred. A nurse taking a blood sample when she was half-asleep ended up in a struggle between her and the three orderlies that fought to restrain her for the few seconds it took to administer a sedative. Coming out of it a couple of hours later, Helo told her what happened after they knocked her out. Once Cottle heard about it, he lit into the nurse for not thinking about what she was doing and made a decree that Starbuck was to be fully roused whenever anything had to be done to her.

An innocent trip to the showers became a disaster. Escorted by an orderly, the attendant turned the spigots to a reasonable temperature and left, leaving her to wash up. Kara stepped underneath the spray and froze. Literally. She couldn't get the water hot enough. Not even when she turned off the cold-water feed and cranked the regulator all the way to the right could she make it hot enough. Steam pooled along the ceiling of the lavatory and still she wouldn't get out or let anyone inside the shower area. It wasn't until Sharon, of all people, stepped under the nozzle did she start to separate reality from fantasy.

Leaving the shirt where it was and letting her hospital gown fall back around her knees, she looked around. Her eyes fell on the sheets of hermetically sealed sterile plastic that had been her 'room' for nearly three weeks. Not being allowed to have visitors as she battled the infection that ravaged her body didn't stop Lee, Cally and Helo from writing messages for her to wake up to, or, as she recovered, playing kids' games just to pass the time. She didn't care if the next person had to look at it. Let them. Maybe it will help them as much as it helped her.

Slipping past the Marine detail still stationed outside Life Station to keep people away from her was something she pre-arranged with Gunny. Sometimes it paid to have friends in positions of authority.

The path to D Deck hadn't changed. Nor had the brig on that deck been relocated since she had been gone and come back again.

Spinning open the hatch and stepping over the threshold, she saw that the duty desk was vacant. Good. That meant that there wasn't anyone assigned to hack. Snagging the key from its usual hiding spot, she toyed with it as she made her way to her 'favourite' cell. A hint of amusement pulled at her jaw_. Wouldn't do to lock myself in now, would it?_

Catching an eyeful of Karl Agathon on the bed in the cell she was planning on spending the night in had her stopping in her tracks.

"Can't sleep, Starbuck?" He had his trade-mark easy-going smile on his face but his green eyes held concern.

"You know me, Helo. I wanted to make sure my favourite brig cell was still here."

One of the best things about having a best friend like Karl was that telling a bald-face lie for all the right reasons was never held against either one of them.

Getting up off the cot and walking past her, he stopped and gestured to the hatch.

"Let's get out of here. Come on – I've got something to show you."

Letting him usher her out of the brig, it was three decks later before they stopped in front of a door at the end of Galactica's Visitor's Section.

Yanking open a specific hatch, Helo pressed a kiss to her forehead before she could step away. "I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, Kara." With that, he closed the hatch behind her once she crossed the threshold.

The room was dim but not dark. It was quarters for a visitor – sleeping area, sitting area and a small bathroom with a shower only – rounded out the medium-sized space. Sprawled in one of the chairs with an ankle across his knee, sat Lee.

"It was my idea, but Tigh signed off on it. And before you go getting defensive, this is not just for you."

Gods, how he can read her! Looking at him warily, she let her expression speak for her. He chose to keep using words.

"All of us will have nights that'll be tougher than others; things are going to happen where a little bit of privacy will go a long way for everyone at some point in time." A suggestive eyebrow lift from her had him amending his statement. "No, this is not a frakking room, Kara. It is a place for us to go when we need to… retreat for a little while."

"I'm not looking for privacy, Lee. It's just… I know I won't be sleeping for a while, or at least sleeping quietly, and I won't deprive anyone of precious rack time because of me. I can't have that, too, on my conscious. Not on top of everything else."

"I know. Which is why, for you, this room will be your sleeping quarters for the next couple of weeks. You'll still have your locker, and bunk. But, you will sleep here." Pointing to a door tucked into a corner of the room, he added, "And you can clean up here. No more 'just washing up' or waiting until the Officer's Head is nearly empty before taking a shower."

"I am not ashamed of my back." Her head came up defiantly. "I know it was something that was done to me, on my own terms, not something I deserved." In her ears, she could hear herself taunting Number Three into beating her into unconsciousness so that she could make her plan work.

"No, you aren't. And you're very good at letting people hear what you want them to believe. But you don't want to be treated any differently because of it either nor do you want anyone else to feel guilty, like there was something they could have done to prevent it from happening in the first place."

Now she got it.

"Like you?"

"Yeah, like me, Kara."

His regret and the way he held himself accountable were etched in every plane of his face and the locked muscles of his shoulders even as he spoke to the floor. Lifting his head, he locked his blue eyes with her green ones and held her as long as it took for the next words to be spoken. "You are not alone, Kara."

Her resolve was crumbling. If he didn't let her go, she was going to lose it.

"You have a lot of people who care about you, Kara."

It was her turn to speak to the floor.

"Like you?"

She heard him rather than saw him stand up. She felt the vibrations under her feet rather than seeing him walking towards her. Heat from a large, male body reached her before firm gentle hands bracketed her shoulders and drew her a little closer.

"Yeah, like me." His voice was deep, husky, a little shy but candid.

Kara matched him timbre for tone as she let the truth shine in her eyes.

"You know I can't go there right now, right?"

"Yeah, I know. But I don't want to know a life without you in it, either Kara. All I am asking for is for friendship. The kind we should've had all along, the kind that's been there waiting for us since the beginning."

"You know that's harder than 'going there', for me – right?" She shook her head and lifted her hand only to press her open palm against his chest – right over where his heart thudded underneath his t-shirt – but she didn't push him away. She needed the connection, but the symbolism of having him at arms length was not lost on either of them. She shifted her eyes to that interesting spot on the floor as she tried to explain herself. "I mean, I love you – nothing will change that…"

"Kara – I know that. I've spent the better part of my life doing the same thing. To do this," he mimicked her by pressing his open palm against her chest and waited for her to look at him again before he tried to make her understand what it was he was trying to say, "makes me want slip into being Apollo and be a match your Starbuck. But Starbuck and Apollo already know and trust each other. Officer Adama serves along side Officer Thrace. To let myself – the real me – the one that I don't even particularly like a lot of the time – stand on his own two feet and let the darker aspects of myself be available to anyone else but me… The only thing keeping me in this room right now is knowing – really knowing – that you are the one person I ever considered doing this with. Love is unconditional, Kara and I am the most judgemental person I know."

"Lee – you gotta know – I'm the wrong person to be put up on a pedestal. There are things that I have done, events put into motion…" She couldn't bring herself to look at him as twenty years of maternal conditioning and self-judgement played out in her memory. Not to mention her part in the Cylon Manifesto or the horrible chain of events that brought about the end of the worlds. "I brought down Viper after Viper for weeks on end. Gods know how many pilots and ECO's I've killed."

"You didn't kill a single one, Kara." Her disbelief made him put more emphasis behind his words. "Kara – people are alive because of you. I am one of those people." Knowing what he said wasn't enough for her, he kept going. "You need to atone for what you perceive you did – I get that. You and I will sit down and hammer out how you were able to breach our defences and chase us from one quadrant to the next. We'll work out new CAP rotations, manoeuvres and re-train our people so that the next time the Cylons attack, all their data will be outdated and useless. With what you have in your head, we can organize a counter offensive, should we ever need it."

His strong voice flowed over her, but what she saw were images of flybys over Galactica's hull, Raptors performing rescue missions and wings separating from Vipers, all on her orders as her Raiders swooped in and broke through Colonial defences. A single moment separated itself from all the others – it was the millisecond when her finger pulled the on the trigger and released the bullet that killed Zak.

"If it weren't for me, Lee, Zak would still be alive."

There. She said it. For the first time in two weeks Zak's name was said out loud.

"Zak made his own choices when it came to you. For all we know Kara, Zak could've been hit by a transport, died of an illness or been obliterated in the nuclear attacks. Who's to say? What I do know is that events between Cylons and Humans have been taking place for fifty years. My family and your family are – somehow – involved but it takes a race to go to war. Zak was a victim – in whatever capacity that means – but he was. That is the only way I have been able to come to terms with what happened to him and I think you should too." Fishing for something in his pocket, he pulled it out and gave it to her. "You never answered my question, Kara. Was this taken before or after?"

It was her picture of the three of them.

Taking it from his hand, she looked at it. She thought about the man she made love to, the man she tussled in the back yard of his child hood home and she thought about the machine that claimed to love her so deeply that he was willing to kill every human in the Fleet to get her – not to mention what he did to her once he had her in his grasp.

"I don't know." Her torn thoughts trembled her chin. "I honestly don't know, Lee."

"Then keep it Kara. Let it be what it always was to you – a token of a time that made you happy and a way to remember him as he should be remembered, by both of us."

Her impulse to reach out to him was one she didn't deny. Her arms stretched around his back as one of his hands tangled her hair and the other he used to pull her close. Wrapped up in each other, feelings and emotions that had as many names as there were moments in a lifetime, swirled around them and made any further conversation un-necessary.

Tucking her head just underneath his chin, he slowly walked them backwards and lowered the both of them onto the bed. Minor adjustments were made and with the thrum of a Battlestar cleaving its way through space, they slept.

Bsg……….xxx……….bsg……….

Cracking her eyes open, lying on her side, the warmth of a hand splayed over her hip brought the events of last night crashing back on her. Not the moments they shared before they fell asleep, but the way Lee was able to soothe her once her nightmares began. Not sleeping for more than an hour at a time, she would wake up, just as her dream would get violent, to having her hair caressed, or, if it took more than that to rouse her, a gentle shake and quiet words of reassurance that she was 'okay' and 'safe'.

Shifting his hand from her hip to his own, she swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood up. The hospital gown she 'escaped' in was far from fresh, but so be it – it wasn't like she had anything else to change into at the moment. Her replacement clothing was still a couple of day away from arriving.

Making her way to the hatch, she was about to spin the handle when she looked over her shoulder. Lee was still asleep and the doorway to the small bathroom had yet to be opened. Letting go of the door, she backtracked. Opening the door to the head as quietly as possible, she took in the lavatory and shower stall. Next to the sink was a new toothbrush and toothpaste. On the back of the toilet tank was an oversized towel and a note.

_Don't run away. Lee_

Turning on the hot water spray, she made it point to take Lee's note with her into the shower to keep her from back-flashing. Setting the soggy mess that was her note back where she found it, she was grateful. Mindful of the scabs that still criss-crossed her back, she loosely wrapped the ends of the towel around her. Fluffing her hair with her fingers, she wrinkled her nose at her dirty clothes. Stuffing them into the laundry bag wedged underneath the sink with a mental note to rinse them out later so she would have something to wear, she slipped out of the bathroom.

Lee was still there. He hadn't run away either.

"Hey."

"Hey."

The verbal exchange wasn't much, but it was just as well. She didn't know what to say to him as it was. The dark of night was one thing; the glare of day was an entirely different matter.

"I'll be right back." Getting off the bed and making for the head, Lee stopped just to the side of her and fingered her longer hair. Slipping a wet end behind her ear, he moved on to the bathroom.

Lee's simple gesture was a parallel for how 'Zak' had complimented her and it was eerie. The two men were brothers, but at the same time, they weren't. It still was something that messed with her head but there was one major difference. Lee wouldn't hurt her – not like that. He would return any barb or any swing she sent sailing his way, but he wouldn't let her be treated like a lab rat or force her to do…. She was so caught up in her thoughts she didn't notice that the sound of running water had stopped.

"I've got something for you." Re-dressed in the same clothes as the night before and rubbing a small towel over his head, he hung it over the back of a chair. "Lie down on your stomach, Kara."

"Why?"

Reaching into a duffle bag stashed underneath the table, he pulled apart the zipper. Two pairs of sweat pants, two pairs of socks, and two pairs of underwear were separated by size and gender. A zip-up sweatshirt and a casual black t-shirt nearly emptied the bag. They were clothes for her to change into as well as a fresh change of clothes for him. A tin of ointment was the last item Lee set on the tabletop.

Picking up the tin, he unscrewed the top and showed it to her. "Look familiar?"

'That's the stuff Cottle said would keep the scars to a minimum." She wasn't vain, but the prospect of having to either make some allusion to the marks on her back whenever someone saw them or always be aware that someone was going to say something about the silvery lines on her back wasn't something she was looking forward too.

In Life Station, Ishnay had been the one who had spread the salve for her. Now that she was 'free', she had figured that she would just reach what she could and suck up what she couldn't. Maybe now she didn't have too – the question was: did she trust herself enough to let Lee get that close to her?

A few quick steps had her next to the bed. Holding onto the towel as she moved to the middle of the bed, she rested her arms flat against the bedcovers.

Fingers gripped the edges of the terry cloth never touched her skin as her towel was pulled down and folded over her bottom. Starting with the backs of her thighs and tracing the welts that were there, Lee worked his way up her body with feather-light touches and careful consideration. By the time he had reached the small of her back, drowsiness had started to make her eyes droop. It wasn't long before she found herself asleep.

She didn't know how long she slept, but there was a light sheet covering her and her cheek was pillowed by her hands.

Lee, though, was gone.

The only thing that gave proof that he had been there were the carefully folded clothes on the table.

Slowly getting up and stretching out the kinks from her nap, she put away the sheet and smoothed out the bed. Stepping into the pants and slowly easing the sweatshirt over her shoulders, the socks were the last things she put on.

Making her way to the bunk room, she kept her head down and her stride purposeful. She wasn't up to her full strength, she could feel the muscles in her legs tiring underneath her skin, but she was determined to get there.

Second Shift had started and the bunk room was all but abandoned as duties such as Maintenance, CAP and CIC called all the pilots and ECO's to different parts of the ship.

Pulling aside the privacy curtain on her rack made her brace her arm against the adjacent ladder. Three separate piles were spread out across her rack. One pile was made up of a plain, but pretty, bra and panty set and three books, one of which was a collection of poetry by Kataris, and a pair of running shoes. Pulling out the note curled into the heel of her new running shoes, it read: _For Kara_. Next to it was a new set of officer's blues and dress greys, complete with a couple of sets of double-tanks and formal sash, adorned with all her accomplishments. The note pinned to the sash read: _For Capt. Thrace_. The third pile contained another zip-front sweatshirt, a new deck of Triad cards, a pack of stogies, and another note: _For Starbuck_.

Every single note was written in the same script: Lee's handwriting. As well as the note taped to her locker: _Open Me_.

Tripping the latch on the locker, a feeling of no longer being alone in the bunk room crept up her back.

It was Lee.

Swinging the door to the locker wider, she caught his reflection in the mirror and then flicked her eyes to her locker. There are more clothes in there than when she left. Two interchangeable casual outfits for off-duty hours, a rather spiffy outfit for a night out, even a dress complete with a pair of dress shoes wouldn't break her feet if she wore them. Nothing outlandish, but items she could see herself wearing. As well as every thing she else she needed for day-to-day living.

"Where did you get this stuff?" She had filed a requisition request with the quartermaster and expected the blues, a set of sweats, running shorts, boots – everything she would need, but still just the basics.

"We went shopping. It was amazing what your money can buy, especially when in the company of a woman who has a very effective pout."

"Cally." Kara named the woman who he went shopping with.

"Add rather tall, intimidating, fairly buff man who knows how to make a small space even smaller when the word 'no' is being tossed around."

"Karl…" She could see her large friend be physically dominating when he needed to be. Turning around she looked him and softly added, "And I'm sure that a certain Captain with a mission to complete only brought along 'back-up' as a courtesy rather than a necessity?"

His smile and self-acknowledgement told her she was right.

Catching onto what he said, she reached for the cigar box that also served as her hiding place for her money. Shaking the box proved to be an exercise in what silence sounded like. He raided her cache of cubits.

"I knew it would be important to you to know that you owned everything you had and that you didn't owe anyone anything."

"You were right." Feeling the cuffs of her sweatshirt brush her finger tips, she looked at him for a long moment as he looked back.

"We're going to let this – this amazing connection between us – work, Kara. We are both going to run and we are both going to screw up and we both are going to know that no matter what-"

"No matter what, Lee, we are going to push each other's buttons and we are going to get in each other's faces. I get that. But, I can promise you this: I'm not going anywhere and I don't want anyone else."

"Neither do I, Kara."

Tracing her fingers along the edges of her – his – sweatshirt, she didn't stop him from placing his hands on her shoulders or a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Breaking the quiet and letting her go, he said, "See you in fifteen on the hanger deck? There's something I want to show you."

She nodded in agreement.

"See you in fifteen."

She never got a chance to tell him that he did get one thing wrong. She wasn't a Captain.

Bsg………..xxx……….bsg……….

Wearing a set of blues, smoothing down the still-fresh creases, it was a couple of minutes before she felt like she could walk into the one place she always felt welcomed.

Running a hand along the hulls of a couple of downed Raptors and ducking underneath the robotic arm of a high lift, the sight in front of her terrified her more than coming face-to-face with the entire Cylon Armada.

Forty-three people, who she didn't know, were spread out in a semi-circle around her. Each person wore a sash, depicting the name of the ship in the fleet which they captained. In between these ships captains were her nuggets, Gunny and his Marines, as well as Cally, Helo, Tigh, Chief, Kat, Hot Dog, Sharon. Behind them rested her Viper – she would know him anywhere – with a length of tarp draped over the cockpit and trailing to the deck, covering up where her name plate would normally be seen. Flanking the tarp were the Commander and Lee. Everyone was arrayed in their dress greys and formal wear.

Pulling his right hand level with his eye brow, Adama was the first one to speak.

"I have an officer and a pilot standing here before us because the woman that she is made it possible."

Passing something small to left, every Colonial officer snapped her a sharp salute and sincerely stated, "I am here, because of you."

Every ship's captain that received the small item also snapped a salute and said proudly, "We are here, because of you."

Hearing those same words come from Helo, Cally, Tyrol, Kat and Hot Dog made her lift her chin higher so that she wouldn't let them see just how much it affected her. She had been beating herself up so much that she never considered what other people thought of her actions. She assumed that they would think like she did – that she was the one who nearly destroyed the Fleet. Instead, they were vindicating her! She couldn't understand it. Didn't they see what she nearly did? Seeing Lee receive the item from the captain of the Aerilon Maiden, she minutely shook her head and pleaded with him mentally: _please – don't do this_.

"I'm here, because of you." Giving her a slight wink, he snapped his hand to his brow. His response to her plea? _If you aren't going to believe me, then try telling everyone here just how wrong they are._

His father's quiet authority reached every corner of the hanger deck.

"Step forward, Lieutenant Thrace."

Watching Kara walk up the middle of the assembly, all did a half turn as she took her place in front of the Old Man.

In one of his hands, Lee could see a velvet box, slightly worse for wear, clutched in his palm. One by one, he freed the Lieutenants Pins from Kara's lapels and replaced them with Captain's Pins. Done, he waited.

It was Kara's turn to salute. A shaky hand shielded emotion filled eyes from everyone who wasn't an Adama.

"Thank you, Sir."

Accepting her symbol of respect, Lee felt all eyes turn to him as he stepped forward and secured what everyone in the room held at least once: her wings.

Speaking loud enough to be heard only by her and his father, he said, "Everyone as a skill, Captain. Yours is making sure everyone knows what it means to alive."

Stepping back and letting Helo and the Chief come forward, the two men grabbed fistfuls of tarp and gave it a strong yank. Fabric pooled on the deck and the new name plate the deck crew created in the initial weeks after her surrender gleamed in the overhead lighting.

_Captain Kara Thrace_

_Starbuck_

A round of applause nearly drowned out Commander Adama's words.

"Permission to launch granted, Captain Thrace."

Xxx……….bsg……….Xxx

_In deep space…_

Faces illuminated by the lights of a BaseStar's control centre, all seemed excited about the latest news.

"Do we have confirmation that she is still alive?" Doral asked.

"Yes." D'Anna answered. "Our spy in the Fleet made visual contact and transmitted the data."

"Then all is not lost?" Leoben was hopeful.

"No – quite the contrary – she is poised right where we want her to be." Boomer seemed pleased.

"Then that is a good thing, then," Simon sounded reassured.

"That is a very good thing," Six purred seductively. Craning her neck to where a last minute delegate appeared in the doorway, she asked, "Wouldn't you say so, Number Two?"

"Kara Thrace's destiny has just begun to play out." Straightening his clothes, Samuel T Anders, new activated Number Two, looked at his fellow Cylons one at a time. "So say we all?"

Seven voices spoke as one.

"So say we all."


End file.
